Fallout: Louisiana
by LauncesMechinist
Summary: The world as we knew it has ended. Radiation has swept across the world, mutating and killing everything in the world. However, people still survive. In the southern reaches of the United States, a fledgling government called the LSM has risen. With the aid of the six Companies they strive to maker the state of Louisiana safe again. But in the town of Robeline, things are worse.
1. A Hunting We Will Go

Good day everyone, Launces Mechanist here with another new story. As always, please review and let me know what you think of it. This story was originally supposed to be a DA exclusive but after a while with it I decided what the hell.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Prologue: A Hunting We Will Go...

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Date: January 15th, 2285

Location: Old Town of Robeline, Louisiana

Time: 0845 (8:45 AM)

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A loud banging on the door barely registered to the soundly sleeping Drew Durr. Ignoring it once, he proceeded to return to sleep; however, the banging happened again, louder this time. This time, Drew scowled and cursed to himself.

( _I swear, if it's them Doverson boys banging on the tin with a sledgehammer again I'll give'em a cussin' they won't soon forget._ )

Out of instinct, he grabbed the pistol belt by his side and drew the old .357 revolver and checked it, making sure it was loaded. He sighed when he saw two spent rounds and four live ones. The two spent rounds used to bring down a bobcat that had entered the town last night. Drew reminded himself to check with Abraham Miller, the town trader, about a new box of bullets. He didn't need .357 bullets due to his having another weapon stashed in the house, but of all the weapons, the revolver was his favorite.

When his family first went into the Natchitoches Parish Vault in the Great War, his great-great-great-great grandfather had been a police officer and was placed in charge of the Vault security. His service sidearm was the weapon he used.

The banging once again got Drew's attention and, red-faced, he stormed for the door. Throwing it open, he expected the see either Tom Doverson or his younger brother Max. Instead, he came face to face with Marshall Dobson, the so-called 'law' in town. Dobson looked at him with a stern expression.

"Old Tack says you slugged him last night after you shot that bobcat. He woke up just a few hours ago with a large lump on the side of his face. Martha's screaming bloody murder and wants you locked up. However, because I don't trust them two nitwits as far as I could throw them, I want to hear your side of what happened." Drew sighed, he _knew_ this would happen this morning. He looked Dobson in the eyes and nods.

"I slugged the bastard because of what he's been doing. You know about him killing dogs or cats that come onto what he calls 'his property'. He then feeds the carcasses to the wild animals out there. Most likely his wife is in on it as well. I warned them time and again that feeding those beasts will make them think food is here. He heard me shoot the bobcat and ran for me cussing and flailing his fists. He tried to grab my weapon and I slugged him."

"I've lost three dogs to him and his 'sport' and this time I caught him in the act. He strung up a dog, probably the one the Macall boy 'lost', and swung it over to the woodline. As soon as that bobcat came out I fired two bullets. When the cat dropped dead, he swung down from his back porch and confronted me. I don't know what Tack and Martha told ya, but my story's the truth."

Dobson nodded and looked satisfied.

"That goes along with what Newton told me and what Miss Jane heard. She told me she heard you shoot what sounded like a bobcat and then heard Tack cursing you as if you'd just tried to shoot him. I'll see the mayor and ask him what he wants to do. This ain't the first time Old Tack and his 'beloved' wife have done something stupid but this sure takes the cake. I was prepared to write up the charges: Killing of domesticated animals, feeding of said animals to wild beasts, attempted assault of a town hunter, attempted cursing..." Drew cocked an eyebrow at this.

"Attempted cursing? How the Hell does someone _attempt_ to curse?" Dobson laughed.

"That goes back to what Miss Jane said she heard. She said that Tack uttered the first few syllables when she heard something sounding like a..uh.. 'a frying pan slapping a fat pig's ass', then...blessed silence. If you try to speak to Tack, you'll only get mumbling from him. Apparently you made him live that old expression to 'bite your tongue'. Your haymaker made what few teeth he had left clamp down on his tongue." Drew fought back the urge to laugh but Dobson couldn't help but smile.

"Doc Collins spent the better part of the night and this morning trying to make sure he doesn't choke on his own blood. Either way, I came to get you. Will said he needed your help hunting. You know the backwoods and old trails around here. He's already talked Abe into setting a weapon and some rounds aside for you, though, knowing him he's only set aside enough rounds for you to kill a few deer with and not enough to bail you out of trouble should you run into something else out there." He started to turn but then remembered something else and turned back to Drew.

"Louisiana Militia radio reports say that slavers and raiders have increased their patrols in the area, you may have to avoid your regular hunting grounds. The Natchitoches garrison is sending out squads to look for them but so far no luck. We've got two squads heading towards us to bolster our strength but they won't arrive until tomorrow. Just wanted to tell you this before you set out. Good luck, and happy hunting."

Dobson and Drew shook hands then he turned and headed up the hill towards the mayor's house. Drew on the other hand walked down the old Highway 6 from his home to the general store at the base of the hill.

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The bell at the door rang as Drew came in. As usual, Miguel was sitting in the bar side of the store enjoying some hard tack biscuit, radhog bacon, and powdered eggs for breakfast. Will was gazing at some new stock Abe had just gotten in from the caravan and Abe himself was busy reloading some bullets. As the door shut, Abe turned and looked at Drew, the man's perpetual scowl unyielding, but he nodded to the table by Will. As long as Drew had known the merchant, he always scowled.

The only time he had ever seen him smile was when he had closed a nine-hundred sixty seven cap deal with a traveling mercenary. Normally he only made about four-hundred caps in a standard day; primarily by selling bullets. Doc Collins had his clinic nearby and easily made a fortune a day selling his Stimpacks, Radaway, Rad-X, Med-X, and Antidotes. The good doctor was also known to occasionally prescribe alcohols such as whiskey or moonshine as painkillers, disinfectants, and sterilizing agents. The doc also made vast amounts of red wine to help bolster hunters and civilians from the effects of radiation from the nearby ruins of the city of Many. Across Highway 6, Bruno had his gunsmithing shop and made a variety of weapons which he then sold either directly to the customer or sold to Abe.

As Drew walked towards the table, Will saw him and smiled, walked over and shook his hand.

"Mornin' Drew. I'm sure glad you're comin' with me." Drew nodded at his old friend and nodded to the table.

"So, what kind of firearm did you get Abe to set for me?" At that moment, Abe harrumphed loudly and walked over to him.

"This here's a one-of-a-kind weapon I bought during my last trip to Natchitoches. It's a rotary 4-10 shotgun. See the cylinder there? It holds six 4-10 shells and functions like a revolver. It's rifled to allow the accurate firing of slugs and is also modified to fire a broad spread of scattershot. This is easily the most expensive weapon I have and I'm a little apprehensive about just giving it to you. However, because I myself am low on supplies, I have decided to let you have a field trial with the weapon. I need to know how the weapon functions in the hands of a capable hunter. If it does well, I may consider letting Bruno take a look at it and make several copies of the gun." The old man gave the two hunters a flat Notk.

"I expect that two ' _skilled_ ' hunters such as yourselves can bring home a lot of game. I'm planning on getting my smokehouse up and running soon for the summer months. Here's a box of extra shells, you boys bring me five radhogs and I'll put you both down for a once-in-a-lifetime offer: fifty percent off bullets for one week and plus, if you like, I'll throw in a shotgun for each of you once Bruno makes the copies." Will looked at Abe as if he'd sprouted wings and called himself an angel.

"You ain't ever given anything away for half off much less free. What's the idea and what's wrong with our standard fifty cap per animal bounty?" Abe's scowl deepened and his eyes narrowed and he lifted a finger.

"First off, your 'bounty' is a little too high for my liking. Second, if you two bring me back those animals, I'll have enough meat to make so much jerky, brisket, and barbecue to easily make up the loss of a few shells and two shotguns and then some. Now then, if that will be all, I have some more rounds to load. A repeat customer needs these rifle rounds reloaded and ready." With that, Abe went back to his reloading bench. Drew turned to Will.

"Well, that explains it. So, you think this job's worth it? I mean, we've got to go hunting anyway, but still, will it be worth some of Abe's roast hog?" Will looked at him like he was crazy.

"You kidding? Of course it'll be worth it! Besides, if we actually got a cap reward from the grinch we'd be paying him back for an order of brisket. No matter the job, this'll be worth it. Even though Miss Jane's roast pork is cheaper." This brought another deep _harrumph_ from Abe.

"It may be cheaper, but remember these words: you get what you pay fer and you can't put a shine on shit. Now git!"

Laughing, Drew and Will left the store, weapons in hand and set out for the woods.

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(four hours later)

Drew lined up the bead on the radhog that was on the other side of the small creek. Easily, he pulled the hammer back on the weapon and steadied his breath and pulled the trigger. A loud ' _bang_ ' echoed as the shotgun fired; the slug sped through the air and struck the massive hog right behind the shoulderblade and the hog dropped a second later. He smiled and signaled to Will to bring the cart up.

Not wasting any time, Drew jumped into the creek and waded across to where the hog was and slung it over his shoulders, then waded back and nodded as the wagon arrived, Will on the seat and his horse, Charger, pulling it. He swung the boar into the wagon and climbed up by Will. Nodding he turned to him.

"That makes fifteen: ten for Miss Jane and five for Abe. We won't have to worry about pork for a while. Let's just hope Abe is good on his word." Will smiled and held up something, a device that Drew recognized immediately.

"Isn't that the old Pipboy I found? You actually fixed it?" Will nodded.

"Try it on, see how it works."

Drew fastened the Pipboy to his left arm and turned it on. The bioscanner beeped as his biometrics was detected and read. A little figure came on the screen and several bars stretched from the figure. A voice piped up from the screen.

" _Biometrics confirmed: Vital systems normal, non-vital systems normal, blood pressure 150/75, pulse 74, normal, bloodsugar levels 105, breathing rate:relaxed. No injuries or diseases detected. Radiation: 0 Rads. All systems normal._ " Drew looked at Will curiously.

"I thought Pipboys were silent, except for radio and audio logs?"

"Not this one, look at the casing, that one's a Series D Pipboy 3500. According to what I know from the old Vault records, only seven thousand were made and they were distributed across the deep south and the far north. These devices have audio confirmation of health and also have a variety of other systems including a distress beacon and even a transmitter compatable with Ham radio signals. Speaking of radio, turn on the radio, Miss Jane never got her radio fixed and I want to hear what's going on in Natchitoches."

Drew laughed at his friend and turned on the radio and keyed to the Natchitoches radio station, all the while making a mental note to see about fixing the radio at Miss Jane's cafe. For a moment, there was static and then a voice came through.

" _Okay ladies and gentlemen, this is good ol' Danny Boy Rhodes, one of the four Rhodes Radio brothers and the DJ for Natchitoches and the entire Louisiana area. It is a sunny day today, minimal cloud cover. Temperature is a warm pre-summer eighty-five degrees and the fishing is wonderful so long as you don't mind the radigators and the gar. First off: the news:_

 _There was an an break-in today at the militia fort on Old River Road, a blackout allowed several individuals to sneak on base and break into the armory. Several carbines, grenades, bullets, and uniforms were stolen. Militia squads are on the lookout for anyone impersonating a militia soldier and outlying towns are requested to check their turntable schedules and be wary of early militia arrivals or unknown convoys. Guess they needed heavy firepower for something; I don't know about ya'll but I'm staying away from dark alleys for a while._

 _The militia commander for Natchitoches has stated that anyone impersonating a militia member will be shot. My tip to everyone: do NOT buy military surplus at this time. That goes double for you Homer._

 _There was a terrible accident in Natchitoches today as the old Keyser bridge collapsed this morning. The bridge was loaded with people heading to and from work. The Copperhead Mercenary Company has been called in to clear the area around the collapsed bridge of radigators, rattlers, gars, and mirelurks while rescue teams try to find survivors._

 _The public outrage though is understandable, as the bridge has not been serviced since the Vault opened years ago and workers had written down numerous reports the bridge was in danger of failing. Not one hour after learning the bridge fell, the mayor was ordering city workers to build a new bridge on top of the old one to restore foot and horse traffic to the Keyser Avenue area. Roughly three hours after the mayor made the announcement public, he stepped out the door to his office and was showered by eggs._

 _Talk about going a bridge too far._

 _In other news, the outpost towns of Natchez and Bellwood have broken off contact recently and militia squads sent to investigate have failed to check in. Rather than risk more soldiers, General John Beauregard Weathers of the Louisiana Militia has requested access to the old Fort Polk armory in order to gain access to both spare suits of Power Armor and other military weapons including surplus vertibirds._

 _So far the request is up in the air._

 _Okay, that's it for the news for today, and now, by popular request. Here is that old song that you all know so well, here's the man in black, good ol' Johnny Cash singin' The Wreck of the Old 97._

With that, the DJ ceased and that familiar tune started playing. Will smiled and began to sing along with the radio. Drew sat back in the seat and enjoyed the ride back to town.

Once they reached the outskirts of town, Will stopped singing and gasped in surprise. Drew went wide eyed as he saw a sight he'd hoped he'd never see. Flames erupting from several buildings and gunshots echoing throughout the hillside; Robeline, their home, was under attack.

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Well everyone, here's my Fallout fanfic. As always, I hope ya'll like it and again, please rate and review. Also, I may put some new stuff in the story that has never been seen before in the Fallout series. What surprises? You'll have to read to find out, but your guesses are welcome.


	2. War Never Changes

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE, ONLY MY 1: War Never Changes

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Date: April 15th, 2285

Location: Outskirts of Robeline, Louisiana

Time: 1255 (12:55 PM)

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As gunfire echoed across the woods, Drew and Will abandoned the cart and ran towards old Highway 6. Stopping at a burnt out Corvega, they both checked their weapons. Drew's rotary shotgun was fully loaded with five rounds with an extra twenty in reserve, his second weapon, his .357, was loaded and he had thirty extra rounds, lastly, he had his skinning knife in its sheath on his left side.

Will on the other hand cursed. While running out of the woods, he'd fallen into a small creek and his rounds had gotten wet. His weapons, a rotary shotgun and a .45 were safe, however he only had six extra shotgun rounds and two clips of seven .45 ammo left. Drew handed Will ten 4-10 rounds and nodded. Then looked at the Pip-boy.

"You said this thing has a radio?" Will thought for a second then nodded.

"Y-Yeah...The series 3500 D has a radio relay..All you need to do is find the proper frequency...I believe the Natchitoches frequency is...1250. Try transmitting and informing them that Robeline is under attack."

Drew turned on the radio on the Pip-Boy and keyyed into the radio signal.

"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Drew Durr at Robeline Village, we are under attack! I say again, we are under attack! Does anyone copy?!"

There was static for a monent until the radio responded.

'This is Natchitoches Outpost Whiskey here in Coldwater, Lieutenant John Doe here. You cannot be under attack in that area as our scouts have not reported anything out of the ordinary. There was a routine patrol scheduled to go through there but they shouldn't be there at the moment. You are imagining it.' Drew looked at the Pip-boy and cursed.

"Okay, so let me get this straight, we are not under attack and that the bullets ripping our town apart are all part of some drunken nightmare?"

'Correct.'

"Well then, if we are not under attack as you so say then what the hell do you call this racket then?!"

Drew punched the transmitter and held it up and the noise of gunfire would likely have made anyone on the other end of the line deaf as a post. After a moment, Drew pulled the radio back down and spoke again.

"Now then, do I have your attention?" There was static on the line until it crackled and a shaky voice came through the other end.

'Patrol from that area never reported in. We are dispatching reinforcements. ETA six minutes. Good grief what a racket. Listen, Drew, was it? Can you see any of the attackers? Are they wearing uniforms? Armor? Some kind of emblem?'

At that moment, a straggler of the attacking force ran by them, looking back and seeing them readied a shout of alarm before Drew blew his chest open with the shotgun. As the body fell into a crater by the burnt out car, Drew keyed the radio again.

"As you were asking, do I see one? Yes, I have a stiff right here. Ugly sombitch; he has no uniform or armor but has a grey and white wolf skull tattooed on his chest. That mean anything?" The silence on the other end of the radio was deafening for a moment.

'Drew...get whoever is with you and get the hell out of there. Those men are known as the Wolf Skull Marauders. They deal in town clearing, slave trading, chem trafficking, bootlegging, you name it, they do it. Their boss, The Wolf, is not to be messed with. I am following up with the reinforcements but don't expect any survivors. If they are clearing villages, they are either looking for slaves or someone wants the village bad. Really bad.'

"What do you mean by 'wants the village'?"

'It isn't uncommon for people with a lot of caps to think about building their own little settlement and making money off of travelers, caravans, and the like. It's technically illegal but then again, where outside of the main city is law enforced?'

"Point taken. Still, we cannot abandon our neighbors, even if a few of them are dicks."

'Your funeral, kid. Nice knowin' ya.'

Drew turned to Will who nodded and then rose to advance on the town. Drew also got up and ran to another burned out pre-war vehicle that had been blown off the road and risked a peek at the town. The sound of gunfire was beginning to fade yet he didn't let that discourage him. He turned and looked at Will who looked worried.

"The gunfire is becoming dispersed. Either our side is forcing the raiders back or the raiders are pushing our side back."

Drew didn't say anything, instead, he climbed over the wreck they were behind and started making his way into the settlement. Will took a moment to make sure nothing was coming towards them before he too started off.

The settlement was walled off by a barrier of scrap iron, concrete dividers, wood fencing, and various other means of denying someone entry. Drew and Will had left Robeline through the large wood and iron gate that blocked the highway. They now entered the town through the gaping hole where the gate had once been.

Robeline was situated on what was known as an 'S' curve in the road. The gate was uphill along with some abandoned houses. As the road curved and went downhill, small shacks dotted the way and at the bottom of the hill and at a sharp curve was the store. Further along was the old Southern Oil gas station, the Robeline Police Department, and the Fulton Brothers Clock and Watch Company. Next to the Police station was the road that led up to the mayors house. Drew's home was on the opposite side of the turn off.

Drew stayed atop the hill and scanned the surrounding area with his binoculars. He made a note of every raider he saw and waited for Will to reach him.

"Drew, how many do you see?"

"Ten so far. Three at the store, five at the Station, and two trying to break into my house."

"What do you want to try first?" Drew sighed.

"The minute we fire our weapons we'll bring the whole lot of them down on our heads. I don't think ten raiders by themselves could sack the town like this. There must be more of them on the other hill at the mayor's home." Will frowned as he watched the raiders at the store.

"Well what do we do? None of our weapons are suppressed."

"We've got our knives right? Mine's too heavy to throw so I'll have to get in close. You though have been throwing knives at trees since you were a baby. Plus, all we have to do is amke it to the store and hopefully there's something left there to salvage and we can use it to fight them off." Will thought for a moment but then realized something.

"Hey, remember that time that Abe snapped at us for using the back door to get in the store?"

"How could I forget? Bastard raised the price of his bullets for us exclusively after that incident."

"Well, I seem to recall that he had a mysterious stranger there who had his hand resting on a small box that hadn't been there earlier. I'm thinking that Abe was in the Black Market."

"Wouldn't put it past him. Still though, if he were, what was in the box? Medicine? Bullets?" Will shook his head.

"No, saw those types of boxes before. These look like the type used by the Militia to carry a small ammount of grenades." Drew paled and then looked to the store.

"Grenades? Doesn't that idiot know if he's caught in town with militia marked explosives, he's a dead man?"

It was no secret that the mayor, Marshall Dobson, and several other townsfolk were once part of the militia and knew the costs of having materials 'fall off the wagon'. That was why purchase and sale of militia equipment was outlawed in the town and was a hanging offense to any who broke it.

Militia equipment was clearly marked with the letters 'LSM', all caps, inside a circle. Armor used a 'metallic'mark, weapons used a 'grey' mark, and supplies like food, water, meds used a 'color' mark.

There was a thief hanging from the makeshift gallows at the gate who had raided a militia caravan and had tried to sell his goods in town. Well, Abe probably would have bought them if not for Dob being right there and spying those military serials and markings.

The thief, caught in the act, had tried to flee only to have Sarge, a local ghoul, hit him with a chair and then he was gunned down by Greene when he pulled a small, snub-nosed revolver.

Drew eased forward a little more until he hear a hammer click. He looked left and saw a barrel sticking out of the tall grass. Drew found himself recognizing the ghoul holding the gun.

"Sarge?" Sarge looked surprised for a moment and then lowered his weapon and nodded with a grunt.

"Damn kid, nearly got yer ass blown into next week. Where the hell were you and Will?"

"Hunting for Abe. Is he alright?" Sarge grunted again and shook his head.

"Nope. Dumb fuck tried to reason with their leader, a big bastard. Got his head ripped off for his trouble. Drew, the leader is wearing power armor, not like the Militia or those Brotherhood people, but instead it looks like it's been pieced together with whatever he could find. Ol Greene, he shot the bastard point blank with that cannon of his and didn't even dent it."

Greene's 'cannon' was a modified revolver that shot .50 caliber pistol rounds. Drew knew that if Greene's weapon couldn't kill the raider, his shotgun and revolver couldn't either.

"What about grenades? Will says Abe might have been part of the black market and had a shipment of grenades in the store." Sarge frowned and then looked to the store.

"'Might have been'? Kid, that sorry bastard WAS in the BM. That was what he offered the leader; full, unrestricted access as a customer of the market. That's what those three pricks are looking for now, his stash. Those guys by your house are likely looking for the same thing. As far as I know, only myself, the mayor, and Dobson are still alive. Everyone else is dead or long since run out of town." Drew sighed and then eyed Sarge's weapon.

"That rifle suppressed?" Sarge nodded then looked at him.

"What're you planning?"

"Sarge, stay back and snipe these Raiders at a distance. Me and Will are going to get closer up and silence the other two. Then, once we're in the store, we're going to look for that stash, then we're going to kick these raiders out of our town."

Sarge smiled and then nodded to him and eased back into the grass. Drew and Will continued forward and managed to get close to a tractor that obstructed them from view. Will chuckled as Drew came up to him.

"Thank God Abe didn't ever scrap this tractor like he was always saying, eh? So, when's Sarge going to fire?"

"As soon as I do this."

Drew grabbed his knife and lunged for the raider who had just stepped around the tractor to take a piss and plunged his knife into his neck. The raider's eyes went wide and his bladder emptied onto Drew's boots as he bled out in seconds, air escaping from his neck in a futile attempt to sound the alarm.

Drew pushed the knife further in to sever the brain stem and eased the body down against the tractor. Will had drawn one of his throwing knives and was in position to kill the raider on the loading dock of the store when he saw the raider near the front door collapse dead with a hole where his face had been.

With practiced skill, the knife flew end over end and landed with a dull 'thunk' in the raider's back. The raider gasped, tried to reach around to pull out the knife but fell off the loading dock and landed in an old dumpster.

"Hmph! Just where trash like that needs to go!"

Will and Drew turned to see Sarge coming towards them and then looking at a body in the parking lot.

"There's Abe's body. I doubt the raider thought to search him for anything. Then again, I remember an old buddy of mine saying something about people tying string to their teeth and swallowing keys or other small objects so that they could retrieve them later. Be warned, if he did swallow the key and the string broke, you'll have to gut him to get it out."

Drew eased forward and then examined Abe's body for any sign of a key on his person, then looked at Will who was searching Abe's nearby home but was turning up nothing. Since he was missing the head, it seemed likely that if he had indeed tied a string to the key and swallowed it, the key was now somewhere in the body. Sarge eased up beside him, his face grim.

"Would you like me to do it? I'm used to the horrors of battle, having faced countless raider bands before, but you; you're a hunter, a ranger, who has never intentionally killed a man before today."

Drew looked about at the bodies of the people strewn around, his friends and neighbors that Abe had betrayed by being a member of the BM and answered Sarge's question by punching his knife into the corpse and pulling downward. Drew remembered that this was also how you removed the entrails when dressing animals and it made him feel less queasy thinking of it as just another entrail removal.

As Drew sifted around the contents, he heard a sharp whistle and looked up to see Sarge chuckling and Will looking rather pale but holding up a small silver key on a piece of string. Drew growled and got up, hastily trying to wipe the blood from his pants and shirt before rejoining the other two.

Will said nothing but went inside the store to see which of the many lockboxes the key fit to and Drew glared at Sarge who kept chuckling.

"Didn't know if you had the...uh...'guts' to do that boy. Heh, I had a feeling the old fool wouldn't be dumb enough to swallow the key, I just wanted to see him gutted. You know, there was an old pre-war religion that stated that the person's soul cannot enter heaven if his body is desecrated. When he surrendered, he condemned everyone in that store to death. Many of them were decent folks who I even considered friends. If there was any justice in the afterlife, I'd wish him an eternity to burn for his cowardice."

Drew had managed to hold back his bile but upon hearing this he ran for the wastebin outside and relieved himself. He had known Sarge to be gruff but this...this was something else entirely.

After he composed himself, he reentered the store and found Will and Sarge going through the items from a rather plain looking locker that the key was in. Will saw him come in and nodded to the locker.

"Take a look at all these weapons Drew! Abe wasn't just a footman for the BM, he was a damned ranked merchantman!" Sarge nodded and motioned to the weapons.

"Yep. Look at these weapons, all of them are designs based upon weapons salvaged from the New Orleans World War 2 museum from back in my day. Heh, Louisiana always did love its history. Who'd have thought a museum built in the early twenty-first would have made such an impact almost three centuries after it was built?" Will looked over the weapons and sighed.

"Sarge, what weapons are these?" Sarge looked them over and nodded, picking up a rifle first.

"This here's an M1 Garand semi-automatic rifle. Fires a .30-06 caliber round capable of stopping anything that ain't armored. It was the primary rifle for the US Armed forces for nearly twenty years before it was replaced with the M14 and later the M16. These rifles are usually issued to new recruits in the militia due to their abundance. Holds eight rounds, good stopping power, only downside is that when you fire that last round, the clip auto-ejects which makes a distinct 'ping' sound that anybody can hear." Sarge held the rifle out for Drew and nodded.

"This rifle is the big brother of that carbine I've seen you with. The only difference is that this weapon fires a full rifle round while yours fires a smaller .30 caliber round. Now then, the reason these rifles are so common is because not only were they housed in armories around the state as back-up weapons for the National Guard and Police forces, some of these weapons were demilled or demilitarized and issued to college and high school ROTC programs as drill rifles or were refitted for smaller calibers for match rifles."

Drew thought of the carbine that was hidden in his home. He kept the rifle for sentimental purposes. According to family lore, it had been used by his ancestor in WW2 who had fought all the way from North Africa to Italy and from there to France and into Germany. There were all places on an old prewar map he'd found but nonetheless, he kept the rifle, believing it to be a symbol of good luck.

Sarge then went through some more weapons in the locker. Most notably there were a few militia marked Colt .45 pistols, two Thompson M1A1 submachineguns, a militia marked scoped rifle called a 'Springfield 03', and a few strange looking weapons that seemed out of place for some reason. When he mentioned these weapons, Sarge nodded.

"They're out of place here because up till now all we've been finding are AMERICAN made weapons. This submachinegun here is British, a Sten Mark II. This rifle is a German Mauser K98. This pistol is also German, a broomhandle Mauser C96. Heh, Commies bought the design back in 2042 and mass produced it for their own armies. The original German made ones are the best, if you can find 'em. Reliable, powerful, and best of all, sturdy. Chinese copies are best chunked into the trash or scrapped for materials if you find any of them." Will looked up from the weapon he was holding and looked at Sarge.

"Hey Sarge, how do you know all this? Just how old are you?" Sarge chuckled and examined a Garand.

"I was once a Sergeant Major in the US Army and I became a professor of history and military science at Northwestern State University in Natchitoches when the bombs fell if you wish to know." Sarge closed his eyes while Drew and Will stood dumbstruck and remembered the 'good ol' days'.

"One of the highlights of my classes were the field trips to numerous military memorials and museums around the nation and even the world. I've seen the World War Two museum in New Orleans, I've seen the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and Arlington National Cemetary in Washington D.C. I've seen the battleship USS Missouri and the USS Arizona Memorial in Honolulu, Hawaii. Heh, I once got a chance to see the U-Boat museum and memorial in Germany the month before the war and was planning a field trip to England and then to France for the Normandy and Ardennes Memorials." Drew and Will looked at him curiosuly.

"Normandy? Ardennes?" Sarge chuckled and turned.

"If we get out of this alive, I'll sit down with you teach you all I know about our history. Who knows? Perhaps you might learn something from all this." Will nodded and loaded a clip into the Garand he held.

"I'll hold you to that...Professor." Then Sarge really did laugh, a sound that, even though he was a ghoul, reminded Drew that he was still human, even if his outward appearance had changed from the radiation.

As Sarge turned he let out a startled gasp and reached into the locker one more time before pulling out a rifle that was so large the ghoul struggled with the weight of it until Drew grabbed it and helped him set it on the counter.

"Damn, in all my years I never thought I'd see one of THESE behemoths again." Drew looked at the weapon and then to Sarge.

"What is it?"

"It's called the Solothurn, an anti-tank rifle from Poland during the Second World War. It fires a twenty millimeter round capable of piercing most light armors. It was effective against small unarmored vehicles or light tanks but didn't do shit against the heavier tanks. Only one I ever saw in the states was at the museum during the pre-war days. Hmm...might be..."

Sarge turned back to the locker muttering something about letting there be ammo for the weapon in there. A second later, he gave a loud 'ah HA!' and pulled a small box with three magazines out of the locker and pulled a magazine from the box.

"Bingo! Three clips of 20mm armor-piercing ammo. That's forty-five rounds of high caliber mayhem waiting to be unleashed. With this weapon, we may have a chance. There's just one downside. Whoever fires this thing best have a strong shoulder and also be a good enough distance away cause once this thing fires, everyone and their uncle'll know we have it and they'll be sure damned determined to get their hands on it." Will looked at him curiously.

"Why's that? Isn't it just a super powerful rifle?" Sarge shook his head.

"During Operation Anchorage, early Power Armor troops wearing the T-45 combat models encountered soldiers firing large caliber weapons meant to stop them. This was before the Chinese employed EMP fields to fry the electronics and disrupt the power cores. The heavy caliber weapons met with some success before the tide turned and the military rolled out the newer, and tougher, T-51 units. It's a long shot but a 20mm round might be enough to silence this bastard once and for all."

Will looked at the weapon and then sighed.

"I'm a good shot but I'm not THAT good. Nor is my shoulder the best." sarge grunted and looked at him.

"Well don't look at me, my body's barely hanging in there itself. I'm an old man, I should have died in a bed surrounded by my grandchildren and great-grandchildren a long time ago. My shoulder can barely handle the recoil of this pea shooter, let alone anything heavier."

Both Will and Sarge looked at Drew who sighed and then loaded the weapon.

"Alright, I'll do it. Just promise me this, neither of you do anything stupid. Will, if ANYTHING happened to you Macy and Emily would skin me alive."

Will chuckled, thinking of his two sisters. Of the two, Macy was definately the more volitile of them and seemed to pick a fight with anyone who so much as gave a dirty look at her beloved 'baby brother'. Emily was a more reasonable person so long as you didn't get in the way of her hobbies.

Sarge picked up the Thompson and loaded some .45 mags for it and slung it over his shoulder.

"Alright then, Will, grab that Garand there, I've got the Sten. Drew, you'll also need a fats firing weapon in case you're attacked. I'd recomend the Sten as its lightweight, uses 9mm rounds, and is silent. For a sidearm with a bit more bite-" Drew shook his head and grabbed a few boxes of .357 Magnum ammo and emptied them into his coat pockets. Sarge grunted and then holstered the proffered C96 into the holster on his belt and then nodded to Will.

"Drew, best place for you to be is on the roof of the Fulton Brothers building. From there you've got a clear line of sight on top of the hill and can see into the mayor's house through the front windows. Now then, take the Solothurn and for goodness sake, be careful, that rifle was meant to be carried in two parts by a crew of three: frame, barrel, and ammo seperately, not one man."

Drew slung the Solothurn onto his back and felt the immense weight press down on his as he chambered a round for the Sten.

"Okay you two, stay down, don't try to be heroes and don't get killed."

"Same to you. Be careful."


	3. A Wolf At Your Throat

Hey everybody! Got the latest update for ya'll. Hope you enjoy it!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 2: A Wolf At Your Throat

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Date: April 15, 2285

Location: Robeline, Louisiana

Time: 1438 hrs. (2:38 P.M.)

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Drew panted lightly as he trudged along the road with the Solothurn on his back. He spared a glance across the road to Will and Sarge and saw that they had taken out the two Raiders who had been trying to break into his house. At the crossroads, they would have to split up.

Drew was headed to the old Fulton Brothers Building across from the Marshall's office (the old Police Station). Back in the pre-war days, the Fulton Brothers were expert clock and watch makers who had emigrated to the states from Luxumborg. Their time pieces (if the old articles tacked up everywhere in the building were to be believed) were famous across the nation and everyone from the President to the Joint Chiefs to the owners of a small diner in Nome, Alaska had one or more of their pieces.

Needless to say the parts and time pieces were more valuable these days as materials and scrap than as devices to tell time. The old fire escape had collapsed during a storm some months back and that left only two ways in: the front door and the loading dock (the back door was blocked by the aforementioned fire escape).

The front door was too obvious a place to enter in case there were Raiders inside the building (which common sense told Drew that was a definite possibility). So instead of setting foot anywhere near the front door, he crept around to the side and managed to open one of the doors on the loading bay. Drew winced internally as the door screeched and groaned as it was lifted upwards on rusty hinges and then once he was in, he released the door which, to his evident surprise, broke free from its track and came crashing down with a resounding 'BOOM!'

Thinking quickly, he dove behind a forklift and trained the sights of the silenced Sten on what looked to be the only door into this part of the building and waited for a moment. Straining to hear, he though he caught the reverberations of someone running down the corridor of the building and switched the safety off.

His intuition proved correct when, a moment later, a raider, dressed in piece-meal leather armor and rags, but carrying a very formidible looking weapon, came running into the bay, his eyes wide and eager to put the gun in his hands to some use.

Drew didn't give him the chance.

He squeezed the trigger and the only sound was that of the Sten's reciever flying back as he fired a five round burst at the raider who grabbed his chest where he'd been hit and fell backwards onto a wrecked . Drew waited for another to arrive but after a moment, figured either no one knew this guy was here or that he wasn't important enough to go looking for. As he approached the raider, he gazed at the weapon that had caught his attention earlier and sighed, recognizing it as Greene's 'Cannon'.

Almost reverently, as Greene had been the man who taught Drew how to hunt, he picked up the weapon and holstered it in his belt. Nearby lay the slumped body of Greene himself, his body riddled with holes from what looked like either multiple automatic weapons or a minigun. Drew resolved that once he had the leader of this group in his sights with the Solothurn, he'd blow his nuts off first, then go for the head.

Creeping further into the old building, he saw a raider fiddling with an old terminal at a desk with a skeleton slumped at the desk. No one bothered to come into the old place so the building was just as it was when the bombs fell over two-hundred years ago, for what could be salvagable in a clock factory?

Drew lined up the sights and, as before, raked the raider with a burst from the Sten. Inwardly, he chuckled.

(Silent but deadly...good grief now I'm starting to understand Will's sense of humor...)

Noticing the power to the terminal was on, Drew spared a quick glance at the terminal to see that the raider had attempted to hack into the system. Seeing the terminal had reset, Drew looked around the old office and found a piece of paper with the word 'clockwork' written in faded ink.

The word turned out to be the password for the terminal and soon a buzzing sound was heard from the device and an error message appeared. Drew saw it and was curious.

"Disc read error...cannot play holotape...please eject."

A moment later a holotape ejected from the side port and Drew picked it up and slid it into his pack. As soon as the disk was out, the terminal shorted out and went dark.

(I'll listen to it later but for now I'm needed on the roof.)

Grabbing some ammo as well as a few stimpacks from the raider's corpse, Drew found the door to the stairwell and managed to make it to the top floor without further incidents or encounters. Once on the roof, however, he decided it was best to err on the side of caution and, grabbing a few lengths of broken rebar and planking, managed to jam the door shut and crept over to the ledge where he could see the Mayor's house along with the raiders.

His jaw dropped at the number of them.

Twenty-nine raiders, all wearing the same piece-meal armor that the others he had killed stood before the Mayor's home. A moment later, the front door literally flew off its hinges as a tall brute of a man wearing a heavy looking suit of armor came strolling out, dragging a sobbing Mayor out behind him as if he were little more than a ragdoll.

Drew hastily set up the Solothurn and then peered through the scope on the rifle to see the Mayor. He had obviously been beaten and tortured to within an inch of his life and Drew couldn't blame him for sobbing as he did. The Mayor was more of a gentleman than a soldier and was unused to the horrors that the raiders could inflict upon the innocent.

Nearby, much to Drew's horror and anger, lay the bodies of Marshall Dobson, Doc Morgan and his wife, Bruno the gunsmith, and Miguel the tanner.

Each had also been similarly tortured before being beheaded. The power armor raider let out a loud howl that sounded more from a wolf than a human being and smiled grimly to his subordinates.

"Boys! We got ourselves a treat here today! This fine, wonderful, upstanding citizen of the people has deigned to inform me that the village of Robeline is under the protection of the Louisiana State Militia and that some of their finest 'Elite' Rangers were not athome when we paid their quaint little settlement here a visit."

Drew stiffled a laugh. If there was one thing that the mayor was good at, it was being a politicial smoke-blower and bullshitter and generally being a VERY fast talker. He never did so with the citizens of the village but with any outsiders who tried to threaten the town, he could spread enough bull around to make the person think they was being fertilized in a flower bed.

Sadly, this bluff obviously did not impress the raiders who howled with laughter as the mayor shrank back. Once the raider laughter died down, the leader rounded on the mayor.

"You see...my boys and I ain't the least bit concerned about some so-called 'Elites'. Then again, I'm a man of principles and I absolutely abhor being lied to and boy, I can smell what you're selling and I ain't buyin'. So, let me tell you what we do to those who lie to me. Let me ask you something Mr. Mayor. What do you do when a wolf is at your throat? Fight back? Submit? Or hope it leaves you alone?" He walked towards the men and smiled.

"Boys. Show the mayor of this town what we do to those who lie to me."

The raiders drew machetes from their armor and charged up the house as the mayor screamed. Then, they started the punishment.

Drew had learned from his father and from first hand experience that when you stick a pig, it squeals bloody murder until you either slit its throat to silence it or it bleeds out. He learned to drown out these squeals when he butchered what he caught and to ignore all else except the blade in his hand and the cut of meat before him.

For the first time since he was a kid, he couldn't drown out the cries and he could not look away from the sight. Every time one of those nine machetes came down the Mayor screamed louder and shriller. This kept up for a few moments until the raider in power armor raised his hand and the others stopped.

The mayor lay on his porch, still screaming until the raider drew a pistol and fired a round into the base of his skull, mercifully ending the torture. He then turned and smiled grimly.

"Already boys, fun's over. Now then, just in case our friend here was indeed telling the truth, an extra cut of the spoils to whoever brings me these Rangers' heads!"

Drew looked and saw Will and Sarge set up. They were pale and shocked by what had just happened but they were still willing to go on, if only to avenge those lost today. Lining up the sights of the scope on the leader, Drew squeezed the trigger of the Solothurn and braced himself for the recoil. The trigger hitched for a split second and then gave and the firing pin struck home inside the chamber.

The report of the Solothurn nearly deafened him and shattered what few windows were still intact on the top floor of the building and the recoil made him think back to that time his father's old horse had kicked his arm. A great gout of flame erupted from the muzzle and Drew could SEE the round travelling down the way.

The raider's leader wasn't so lucky.

The round struck him on the right paldron of the armor and tore it, and the arm, clean off. As soon as the reciever on the rifle closed back and the raiders looked around in shock at their leader's wounds and at where the shot came from, Sarge gave what Drew had heard called a 'rebel' yell that would have done any number of his ancestors proud and let loose with a barrage of .45 caliber hell-on-earth. Will likewise opened fire with the M1 soon the raiders closest to them were sprouting little red holes where the rounds had gone into them.

Drew took aim at the raider leader who was squealing much like the mayor had been earlier but then redirected his aim at a raider hefting a shotgun that was bearing down on Sarge from the side.

The Solothurn thundered and the raider disappeared in a thick red mist. The reciever shut, Drew realligned his aim and 'BOOM!' another raider did a Houdini.

Looking back to his comrades, he saw Will and Sarge now falling back and taking cover behind a low wall along the road to the mayor's house and were exchanging fire with the raiders. Drew noticed they were falling back towards him and started using the rifle for covering fire. At one point, a round he shot and went through two raiders and then took a chunk of the wall they were using for cover with it, giving Will a shot at one who didn't have the common sense to keep his ass out of the air.

Needless to say that raider wouldn't be sitting down for a while.

Sarge motioned for Will to fall back as he raked the raiders again with the Thompson before he fell into step behind him. Drew meanwhile fired the last shot in the first magazine and then reloaded and took up the sight again. He scanned for the raider leader but didn't see him in the group and then settled for blowing the brains of one of the men who had 'punished' the mayor into the next parish.

The raiders, seeing their attackers were now holed up in a crumbling building started to feel confident and walking towards the building along the road.

Needless to say that several of them found out about Sarge's hobby of building his own explosives. Eighteen of Sarge's homemade land mines sent several of them flying while their fellows halted and looked around for a bit before a barrage of rifle and machinegun fire from the building got their attention once again.

(Eighteen down, one probable, leaves eleven.)

Drew started to feel good about their odds until he saw something that scared the daylights out of him. A raider stood near the police station with a large bore weapon that Drew had seen before.

"Grenade launcher! Take cover down there boys!"

The gunfire stopped for a split second and the raider holding the launcher fired just before a round from the Solothurn turned him inside-out.

The 40mm round arced through the air in slow motion before detonating at the front door of the building. A second grenade launcher that Drew didn't see shot a round into the building and moments later thick white smoke poured out from the entrance and the raiders on the ground now shifted their fire up at HIM forcing him to take cover and relocate the Solothurn to a spot where there was a breach in the parapet. Seconds later, he heard the sounds of coughing and then a voice that made his blood run cold.

"Well looky here boys! Looks like we found our so-called 'Elite' rangers after all! Tell me Mister Ranger, what do YOU do when a wolf is at your throat?" Drew looked through the break to see the raider leader, power armor and all (though missing one arm), standing proud as if he'd never been shot. He looked down and paled as two raiders came out of the building dragging Will along behind them.

The raider leader looked to Will and sniled and then looked back up to the roof.

"So, mister Elite Ranger, what'cha gonna' do now? Huh? I present you...with a choice...you surrender and...submit to punishment for what you took from me. Or don't, and let you friend be the one who...paints the town red. Hmm...I think your friend wants to say something."

Drew didn't hear what Will said but the raider turned bright red and snarled before kicking him in the gut.

"Now that wasn't very nice. And I give you my most...sincere apologies for that but you see...I normally am a very...reasonable man but for some odd reason today, heh, I just can't seem to control my temper today. I don't know why, I've been bribed, cursed, shot at, lied to, and oh yes, I'VE HAD MY FUCKING ARM BLOWED OFF! Now then you little shit, I'm going to give you till the count of three, to get your ass down here before I submit your 'friend' to the punishment that would be yours. Ready?"

Drew looked down at Will who meekly shook his head.

"Drew, don't you dare! You're damned if you do and damned if you don't! Don't you dare! Don't you dare think of coming down here to spare me! They'll kill us both!" The raider looked to him, a hurt expression on his face.

"I am downright offended that you would implicate me as a liar." He knelt beside Will and then sighed.

"But you know something? You told the truth."

Drew watched in horror as the raider pulled a knife from his armor with his good hand and plunged the knife into Will's chest and then slit his throat. Drew saw his friend slump to one side, blood staining his vest and shirt, his eyes betraying his emotions. Fear, remorse, anger. Drew felt as if HE'D been the one who stabbed Will but then forced the feeling down and aimed the Solothurn once more at the raider leader and fired.

The raider leader turned broadside as he saw the muzzle flash and the round hit the chestplate of the armor tearing a massive groove through it before striking a raider who was right beside the leader in the leg. The raiders opened fire on the roof in a frenzy. Drew slumped down behind the parapet, tears in his eyes but his anger was burning, seething.

"You hear me you sonofabitch?! I WILL find you, and when I do, I WILL rip the rest of your limbs off, then I will rip your spine out your ass and hang you with it! You hear me?!"

Laughter was his reply and a single sound. The sound of a fuse burning. Drew rose and ran for the door he barricaded and felt the first tremors as the building began to shake as the dynamite charges the raiders had placed detonated.

Suddenly, the floor opened up beneath him and he fell through, screaming as the building came down with him in it.


	4. The Black and Blue and Grey

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT SERIES. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 3: The Blue and Black and the Grey

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Date: April 16, 2285

Location: Robeline, Louisiana

Time: 0125 (1:25 A.M.)

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"-ic!"

Drew heard something but couldn't turn to face where the sound was coming from. There was also an urgent beeping from the Pipboy on his arm. He felt an immense weight on his body and his mouth, nose, and eyes felt gritty, as if he'd fallen asleep in a sandbox.

"-ed-c!"

The sound came back again and he found himself trying to shift and turn away from the noise. His mind was still transfixed on what had happened earlier. The attack. The raiders. His, Sarge, and Will's counter attack...Will's...death?

 _(No...no that can't be right, Will wasn't killed, he managed to escape...didn't he? No...No it was HIM the raiders dragged outside, not Sarge...Did he survive?)_

The images passed by one at a time like old still shots from some prewar camera. Will on his knees. The raider leader he'd maimed. The long knife and then...

 _(Oh God...he's dead...My best friend is dead because of me! I...I should have listened to that dispatcher and got the hell out of there when I had the chance...If I had then...then Will would still...)_

"Medic!"

Drew heard more clearly now. He heard someone calling for a medic but...since when the hell did Raiders give a shit about their own wounded or the wounded of those who fought against them?

Never, that's when.

Which meant one of two things. Either Sarge had managed to get help from a local mercenary company that had trained medics, or...

Drew opened his eyes and saw the I beam laying across him. He moved his gaze to the left and right and saw it supported on several chunks of concrete and rebar that, now that his vision was clearing, saved him from being crushed. Still, he couldn't move his right arm. Probably pinned underneath something. He tried to turn his neck but his whole body ached as if he'd had a building come down on top of him...oh wait, he DID have a building come down on him.

 _(Those damn raiders...they dynamited the building...damn near killed me...So then...who's calling for a medic?)_

"Where's the damned medic?! We have a survivor here!"

Drew turned to see a sight that, had his eyes not been gritty and dry, would have brought tears to them.

Before him, a little ways off in the flickering lights of the ruined building he saw a soldier dressed in the dark and light grey uniform of the Louisiana State Militia or LSM. The gold chevron on his sleeve denoted the rank of Private. The soldier's grey uniform dusted with plaster and dust from climbing through debris all around him.

"Jackson! How the hell do you know if he's alive or not?!"

"He's looking right at me Sergeant!"

"The dead look at everybody Private, now get back in formation! He belongs to the buzzards now."

Suddenly seeing the soldier shift and prepare to leave him to his fate and hearing the same from oithers outside gave Drew a strength he didn't realize he still possessed. His right arm might be pinned, but his left was still working and it was loose. He worked his left arm free and though it hurt like hell to breathe, he sucked in a deep breath and shot his left hand straight up and yelled as loud as he could.

"Help! I'm over here!"

There was an explosions of very colorful words and then a scrambling of feet as he heard more people approach his position. A moment later, a bright light was shined onto his face and he saw another soldier in grey, this one with Sergeant's stripes.

"State your name and affilitation!" Drew had a coughing fit but then nodded.

"Drew Durr, hunter, ranger, and deputy marshall for the town of Robeline!"

Drew had only been a deputy marshall for three months but if saying that got him out of this deathtrap quicker then so be it. Still, that seemed to satisfy the Sergeant who immediately ordered his men to extricate Drew from the rubble while he called for a medic.

The soldiers cleared the small debris but had trouble with the large I beam, for that, Drew saw the Sergeant motion for someone and a moment later he heard a series of mechanical footsteps nearby. He turned and was dumbstruck to see an LSM Power Armor Trooper (PAT) wearing a suit of T-51b Power Armor standing nearby and preparing to lift the beam. A second later another series of steps and on Drew's opposite side stood another LSM PAT with a suit of T-60 Power Armor.

He couldn't hear them speak but he felt them lift the beam together and toss it aside before another soldier, this one wearing a white coat over his grey uniform came up and shined a small light in his eyes and then poked and prodded him all over. The beeping from the Pipboy was getting annoying but then he noted the flashing red light on the casing and the medic reached for it and pushed it. The beeping stopped but the red light still flashed. The medic went back to his examination.

Drew winced when the medic poked a particularly sore spot on his right side, his right shoulder (no doubt from all the shots with the Solothurn), and his head was pounding like an anvil being pounded on by a drunk blacksmith. The medic nodded, stood, and faced the Sergeant.

"Multiple lacerations, looks to be three bruised ribs, slight irritation of the throat from inhaling all this dust, also looks to have repeatedly traumatized his right shoulder for some reason." The Private who had found Drew, Jackson, looked to him and then to the medic.

"Might have something to do with that gigantic rifle we found earlier." Drew coughed and then nodded.

"S-Solothurn...It was...the only thing...we had that...could stop him..."

"Him? Him who?"

"Raider leader...power armor...Dispatch in Coldwater called them...Wolf Skull..."

Drew was rewarded by seeing every single soldier around him pale when he spoke that name. The Sergeant leaned down over him, serious as a heart attack.

"Son...are you saying that Smiling Jack was here? And that you killed him?" Drew shook his head.

"A guy in power armor WAS here, but...he didn't say his name...just went on and on about...telling lies...telling truths...punishing those who lied to him...I...didn't kill him but...I DID maim him...Heh, blew the bastard's right arm off when he executed the mayor. He repaid me though, by bringing this building down with ME in it." The Sergeant nodded and looked at the Medic.

"Doc, keep this man alive while we return to Natchitoches. I don't give a damn how you do it, you could even use voodoo if you think it'll help but DON'T LET HIM DIE. Am I clear?"

The medic nodded and then motioned for the soldiers to help move Drew onto the litter that another soldier had brought while they talked. As he settled onto the litter, the medic stood over him, a syringe in hand.

"Here. This'll numb the pain while you're in transit." The medic injected the painkiller into Drew who began to feel sleepy as the medic nodded, obviously impressed.

"You're one lucky guy to have survived all this..."

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 _Drew awoke in darkness, nothing in front, beside, or behind him but inky dark. He felt a little unnerved but didn't show it._

 _"Hello? Anybody there?"_

 _Suddenly a gunshot pierced the silence and the dark that surrounded him shattered like a mirror. Each piece remained motionless where it had broken off and in each piece Drew saw a memory from his past days in Robeline._

 _The time he and his father had forst gone hunting together._

 _The time he'd accidentally caught his best friend, Will, in a makeshift net trap he'd built._

 _The day he'd heard from Marshal Dobson that his father had been killed by a radigator._

 _Then..._

 _Drew turned and saw a large mirror before him and in that reflection he saw himself but with a knife in his chest and his throat slit. Before he had a chance to be alarmed, the reflection morphed into that of Will, his eyes still buring with that same intense anger that had been present when he'd died._

 _Will took the knife from his chest and regarded it angrily and then looked to Drew._

 _"It should have been YOU."_

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Date: April 17, 2285

Location: Near Coldwater, Louisiana 18 miles from Natchitoches Outskirts

Time: 1034 (10:34 A.M.)

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Drew came awake all at once with a stabbing pain in his right side where he vaguely recalled something about bruised ribs. As the pain cleared, he began to notice things. The sound of people talking, dogs barking, brahmin lowing, radhogs squealing, and the smell of something delicious sizzling on a skillet nearby.

He knew better than to yell but couldn't help but grunt as he tried to prop himself up until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Sarge's face and then the medic as they came to him.

"Heh, easy there kid. You might not want to upset them ribs any more than you have to."

Together, Sarge and the medic set Drew upright, though they refrained from grabbing his injured right arm. Drew saw it in a sling and looked at the medic curiously.

"Sarge here told us how many shots you fired from that Solothurn rifle. I'm honestly amazed that your shoulderblade wasn't more damaged than it was. You wrenched your arm and the fall in the building completely dislocated it. It'll take a while for that wing to heal but until it does, consider yourself as accepting our hospitality for the moment." Drew looked to the medic curiously.

"Why? Why not simply treat me and then let me go on my way?"

"You got kin anywhere nearby?" Drew shook his head.

"Well that alone is plenty enough reason to hold onto you. Plus, we radioed in what happened to the boss and he wants to meet you. We also happened upon your buddy here who confirms your story. Ol' Smilin' Jack's been causing a stir with the brass lately. So much so that they offered a four-thousand cap bounty on his head." Drew whistled in appreciation of that and the medic nodded.

"Naturally since you only maimed him you can't claim it, they need a head or the whole body, but this information about what you did is enough to net you some type of reward."

"Now then, thirsty? Hungry? Both?"

Drew followed the medic's hand to a coffee pot hanging over a fire nearby and also to a skillet of what smelled like salt pork sizzling on it and smiled.

"Both."

The medic nodded and rose to grab a metal cup and plate and filled the cup with coffee and put salt pork, grits, and a biscuit on the plate before returning.

"The biscuit's a little hard and the grits are dry but the salt pork is perfect. Freshly butchered this morning."

Drew took a sip of the hot coffee and nodded while he opened the biscuit, slid a piece of the salt pork inside and started eating, feeling much revived.

"Sorry we ain't got much flour or pepper for some gravy but it'll have to do. Once you get your strength back, you'll be coming with us to the headquarters to speak with Captain Lee. He's the intel officer in charge of tracking down and eliminating raiders and their ilk from our fair parish. Plus, don't tell the LT but it was the ghoul who cooked the salt pork." Neal gave the medic a questioning look and he sighed.

"I ain't biased, food is food, but alot of folks don't like someone who looks like a corpse touching their food. Think it'll give them leprosy or some other prewar disease." Drew nodded and then looked at Sarge.

"Sarge. One thing bugs me. How did you escape?" Sarge sighed and nodded.

"Much the same way you did kid. When that grenade you warned us about went off, the floor gave way under me and I found myself in the sewer system that ran under the town. Time I got to my feet, Will had already moved a desk to block the hole to prevent anyone from following and I left out that way. If I'd known what they were going to do though..." Drew nodded and then looked back to his plate.

"The bastard toyed with us. Said if I surrendered he'd let Will go. But Will forced his hand, made him admit he was going to kill us both." Sarge nodded sadly and sipped at his own coffee.

"Shoot the hostage." Drew looked at Sarge when he said that.

"What?"

"It's from an old holotape from before the war. Shoot the hostage, take them out of the equation. Leave just you and the bad guy standing, no advantages, no leverage, a straight up fight." Drew shook his head and swallowed the bite he had in his mouth.

"Except for one thing."

"What's that?" Drew took a sip of coffee.

"When do raiders stick around for a straight up fight?" Sarge looked at him, slackjawed, then laughed.

"Never. They're all too cowardly to fight a straight fight."

Suddenly there was a commotion and someone yelled in a loud voice.

"It's that bitch again!"

Drew rose and was helped by Sarge to where the commotion was taking place and saw a villager standing before a very large (and angry) female dog. Sarge held him back as he saw her.

"Hold it. That dog's part wolf. See the tail, the fur, and the eyes? That's what marks them when you're up close. Looks like she's part Shepard too... Shame she's feral, she's absolutely _gorgeous_."

The wolf dog was indeed gorgeous, her fur was mainly black with tinges of grey along the tips of her tail, ears, and paws, and her main coat on her body and legs had tan and brown undertones that gave away her Shepard parentage.

Her eyes were another striking feature; they seemed to glow with an inner golden-yellow light that gave them an unnerving quality. Drew looked around and then saw the man who had yelled in the first place, ready to bring a club down on the dog's head.

"Hold it! What the hell are you thinking?" The man looked at him as if he were crazy and then pointed at her with the club.

"She's a wild animal she is, always killin' and devourin' our livestock. She's even bit one or two people but always got away." Drew looked at her and saw she was clearly emaciated.

"How much does she usually take?" The man grew angry and then looked at the dog.

"How the hell should I know, I keep my livestock in the barn at night when she usually prowls, but the other folk, they've seen her plenty o' times draggin a radhog, a stag, or a somethin else away." Drew looked at the man and then to the medic.

"How many caps for two radhog hams?" The medic looked to him and quickly did the math.

"Here where pork is the most common source of meat? Raw is thirty caps, cooked is-"

"Raw. Bone-in." The medic met his eyes and then nodded he understood and then grabbed Drew's hand as he reached for his pocket where he kept his caps.

"No you don't, I said you were under MY supervision and thus in need of MY hospitality. I'll pay for 'em, but... do you really think you can do what I _think_ you're tryin' to do?" Drew laughed.

"Tame a wolf? No. Tame a _dog_? Yes."

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A few moments later the medic returned with two hams and a string of curious people who wanted to see what was going on. More than one person gasped when Drew took a ham and started easing towards the animal they had come to dislike. The wolf dog eyed him warily as he approached.

Drew, having spent countless years in the woods, hunting animals and raising them, knew the signs of aggression, but he also knew the signs of desperation.

This animal might act aggresively, but it was all an act. She was just trying to survive as best as she knew how. The dog's wolf part knew that human livestock was weak and easy prey but the dog in her craved to be around people, to interact with them, to be loved by them.

Obviously she was conflicted.

Drew carefully closed with her and then held the ham out in front of her.

"Here. This is to take the edge off."

Once she understood he was GIVING the meat to her, she snapped it out of his hand and went to tearing at it, occasionally looking at the people who had chased her and tried to hit her time and again and enjoying their looks of apprehension when she ripped a particularly large chunk of flesh from the bone or when she bit down on the bone and heard it _crunch_ between her fangs.

In no time at all the meat was gone and she was licking the bone, trying to get the marrow that was leaking from where she'd bitten into it. Then she saw movement and saw Drew produce yet another ham and hold it before her.

This time, she felt a sense of calm from Drew and closed towards him with a curious glance. Her head cocked to one side, her eyes darting back and forth among the crowd until she was close enough to him. This time however, she opened her mouth and took the meat without snapping at it and started calmly, if somewhat daintily, eating it.

It took longer for her to eat the second ham as she was eating slowly but once it was gone, she rose and looked at Drew again. The people knew he'd only had the two hams and looked to see what the dog did next.

Drew held out his hand, palm down, and motioned towards her with his head. Slowly, gingerly, the dog drew near until almost touching his hand and then, much to the shock of everyone gathered, lowered her head and placed it under Drew's hand.

Drew smiled and started rubbing the dog's head and stroking the fur in between her ears. From the dog's expression, she seemed to enjoy it immensely. He mouth was parted, her tongue lolled out to the side, and she was panting lightly. Drew nodded to Sarge and the medic and then turned back to the dog.

"There's a good, smart girl." Sarge whistled and he heard someone behind him utter that famous southern quality 'Well I'll be damned'. Drew chuckled and looked to the men behind him.

"Give a wolf a bone and you've a friend for ten seconds, give a dog a bone and you've a friend for life."

The man who'd been about to club her looked as if he'd eaten a bowl of brahmin shit. He frowned and hefted the club as he started to take a step towards Drew and the dog.

Instantly, the dog turned from Drew's hand, standing protectively in front of him, paws slayed, mouth agape, ears back, eyes wide, and lips pulled back in a viscious snarl and growled loudly. The man froze in his tracks as he saw this transformation and Drew looked up to him.

"I've civilized her, but I doubt I'll ever get the wolf out of her. You best get on and forget about this dog before she decides to do to you what she did to those hams."

The man stammered something unintelligible, dropped the club, and bolted for the nearest building. As soon as he was out of sight, the dog relaxed and went right back to panting happily under Drew's petting.

"I'll have to give you a name now, won't I?"

As if in answer, the dog's tail started swishing back and forth.


	5. The Overpass

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 4: The Overpass

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Date: April 17, 2285

Location: Old Highway 6/ Interstate 49 Overpass

Time: 1301 (1:01 P.M.)

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Traders and Caravans who traded along I49 called it 49J due to the exit signs. The LSM called it 'Junction 12C'. The locals and anyone else who came this way simply called it the Overpass.

Highway 6 ran straight in between two hills as it wound its way to the City of Natchitoches. To link the city of Shreveport and Natchitoches to Alexandria and all other cities along its route, the Interstate had to be set upon a massive bridge that crossed the hills and went over Highway 6.

Old prewar cars, trucks, vans, and other kinds of rusting, abandoned vehicles once littered the on and off ramps and cluttered the roads until the LSM began 'Operation Transit'. The project was simple, use manual or animal labor to clear the Interstate and allow use for military convoys and supply caravans.

What the LSM _didn't_ count on was the number of small settlements that dotted the 49 and were either completely hostile or raider occupied. Most however, were just glad to actually know that there was some manner of civilization out there.

The result was that settlements such as Ajax, Chopin, Stonewall, and others became war zones while others like Allen, Boyce, and Flora grew bigger thanks to the influx of trade and new citizens. Once the project had been put underway though, the LSM had no intention of stopping.

Anybody in the LSM could tell you that.

'Transit' took place in 2177. Since then, I49 had been rebuilt wherever possible and using whatever mens nessessary and now expanded from Bossier City and Shreveport to Natchitoches to Alexandria and even so far as to Baton Rouge.

Drew listened to the radio on the Pipboy as he looked around in amazement at the building built along the Overpass from prewar days. When he mentioned this to Sarge, the old ghoul laughed.

"I wish you could have seen all this when the world was still sane. Then again, the kind of chaos that existed then would probably drive you mad. See that building there?" He pointed to a partially collapsed structure and Drew nodded.

"It was a little restaurant that a buddy of mine, Miguel, owned and operated. He was a damn good friend and an even better cook. His quesadillas and tacos were the toast of the town and plus, unlike other places, when the food shortages hit, he just kept right on trucking." He gave a small sigh.

"He even made a point to let military veterans, police officers, firefighters, EMTs and children eat for free. It bit into his bottom line but he didn't care, he only cared about making sure people were fed." Drew looked at the restaurant.

"What happened to him?" Sarge shrugged.

"Don't know. Last I heard he was over in Texas overseeing the opening of a new restaurant and also attending some charity event the day the bombs fell. Don't know if he was registered for a Vault but to be honest, I doubt it. He never put much into that whole 'Better Future Underground' bullshit by Vault-Tec."

"He was a man who was all sunshine and rainbows, even in those troubled times. Always saying that things would get better. Until the day the bombs fell, I have to say that I believed him."

"What if he was right in front of you? What would you tell him?" Sarge thought for a moment and shivered.

"No, I'd rather not think it. To be honest, what I went through, this... _ghoulification_ , as you call it, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Miguel was a good friend and avery religious man. It would kill me to find out he became one of the many feral ghouls roaming the land. That, in itself, is a fate worse than death." Drew looked at Sarge and shrugged.

"Never thought I'd see THIS side of you." Sarge scowled.

"Smartass. YOU get forcefully irradiated by some Commie pinko terror weapon, watch every single person you grew up with and liked and even LOVED get killed in the blink of an eye, watch everything you ever cared for destroyed and get to live _centuries_ longer than any normal living human in modern history and walk this... this living _HELL_ day in and day out and tell me you'd still have your sense of humor!"

Drew realized he'd struck a nerve with the old ghoul and lowered his eyes.

"Sorry. I forgot you lived through something that I hope I never have to witness. I was just saying that you don't smile much." The old ghoul growled.

"What reason is there to smile? I'm alone. My wife died in New Orleans along with my children. The first few years after the bombs I thought about ending it over and over but for some reason every time I thought about it, I would see my wife's face and she would pull me back from the edge." Sarge looked at the Overpass and sighed.

"I kept telling myself that I would be there to teach the new civilization about the horrors of war and how best to survive out here but alas, I am no Glowing Man. I'm just a washed up teacher without a classroom or students." Drew looked at Sarge funny and raised an eyebrow.

"The Glowing Man? Who's that?" Sarge dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

"Something I heard about a few years ago. A group of Vaulters and French Guardsmen said they were saved by a Glowing One, a ghoul infused with so much radiation he actually _glows_ in the dark. He was able to speak with them and teach them how to survive until people from the nearby settlements could arrive."

"Rumors say he spends his time hanging around Vowell's Mill on 117. No one knows why he stays there but my guess is with slavers and raiders to the south infesting Bellwood and Kisatchie and the Brotherhood of Steel in Provencal, he's stuck between a rock and a hard place."

Drew sighed and then looked around for Izzy. He saw her sniffing around an old dumpster by another old restaurant and chuckled.

"Sorry girl, you won't find any food there I'm afraid." Izzy turned to his voice, huffed at the empty dumpster and returned to his side.

Now that Drew thought about it, this was the longest he had ever walked before. Sure he'd walked long distances before but never from Robeline to Coldwater and now here he was about to walk under I49 and the Overpass. _Technically_ he still wasn't able to ride a horse due to his ribs but that didn't bother the militia group he was with.

He learned the group that had rescued him from Robeline was the 27th Auxillary Support Corps. A mishmash of riflemen, drill instructors, unassigned PATs, medics, and scouts who went from place to place following the ' _important_ ' groups of the LSM. This group in particular was acting as an escort for Brigadier General Wallace who was returning from a foray into the irradiated ruins of Many.

Once they caught sight of Robeline, General Wallace and his vanguard rode ahead and left the 'cleanup' to the corps. As a group without horses, the 27th had to hoof it (no pun intended) from place to place and for once Drew didn't envy those PATs. The only reason they were here was because their armor was in such rough shape and that there were no parts available for replacements.

Drew decided to pass the time by flipping through the functions of his Pipboy as he hadn't exactly had time to do before.

Naturally there was the health and status screen which showed his heart rate, blood pressure, pulse, breathing rate, and other things.

Next was the radio transciever screen which showed which Ham radio frequency Drew was on at the moment. At the moment the radio was silent (since to use the radio you had to also flip up a small antenna and turn on the built in microphone.

On the top was a slot that would enable the playing of holotapes as well as a red button that activated the distress beacon which, as Drew recalled Will telling him, would send out a general distress S.O.S. communication to any Ham operator within the state.

A flip of the dial brought up the last screen which held the local map, the state map, and lastly the radio itself.

Drew noticed there were multiple stations to choose from and then looked to Sarge.

"I've only heard of the Natchitoches Broadcasting Center, what are these others?" Sarge looked at them and nodded.

"Alright, this first one here, TST100.5, that's a transponder tower. They were used by the Natchitoches Airport to guide in planes and also used by the National Guard to coordinate their forces. Don't bother tuning in unless you like hearing the same thing over and over again said by a bunch of dead people as the radiation killed them. Or unless you like screams of terror as planes dropped from the sky and exploded into pillars of flame." Drew grimaced and looked to the Pipboy.

"Depressing. Doesn't anybody ever shut them down or reprogram them?" Sarge chcukled.

"How? The building with all the codes to access those towers is swarming with feral ghouls dressing in what remains of the National Guard uniforms. That's right, the only recieving center for those towers is in Leesville, south of Bellwood and Kisatchie. No one in their right mind would fight through all the raiders, Yao Gui, Deathclaws, and feral ghouls just to press a 'reset' button and finally put an end to some disillusioned fool's two-hundred year old cry for help that never was answered."

Sarge sighed for a moment and then saw Drew's expression.

"Harsh, I know, but still; those towers serve a purpose as they are now. They give people the locations for the distress calls and also act as waypoints for the lost. Turn them off, anyone with an incomplete Pipboy map will be as confused as a baby raccoon." Drew nodded but then turned to him.

"What's a raccoon?" Sarge looked at him as if he was serious and then burst out laughing.

"That's a question for another time kid. Now then, back to the radio... let's see... oh boy, I guess HE's back up and running again."

"Who's 'HE'?"

"Some idiot named 'Cotton-Eye Joe' up in what used to be Arkansas who apparently drinks his own moonshine, spouts off ridiculous things, and found some prewar yahoo's collection of Civil War music on holotape and several 'thousand' dollars of 'Confederate' money. Thinks it's worth something these days.

"Tune into him if you ever get the urge to declare that 'the South shall rise again' or some other prewar nonsense. Idiot also insists on calling this entire area 'Dixie'." Sarge thought of something and ammended his speech.

"Probably the only reason anyone here listens to him is because he has 'Give Me Louisiana', 'The Battle for New Orleans', and 'Dixie' on holotape. Tune in and see if he's playing anything good."

Drew flipped down to the marker titled 'Confederate Radio Broadcast' and automatically held the Pipboy away from him as a loud yell came through the speaker.

 _'Hey ya'll! This here's you favorite DJ in all of Dixie, Cotton-Eye Joe here, and I'm about to liven up your lives with this wonderful selection of music that showcases our PROUD heritage. I now turn you over to the wonderful, magnificent All-American Brass Band with 'Dixie'! After the music, the news.'_

Drew hurriedly switched off the radio and got a nod of approval from Sarge.

"These's many people who don't know or care for the history that a piece of music or a flag or a document represents. Even in my day there were people who would wave symbols of history about as symbols of a 'new world order' or as symbols of hate. Yet, there were those who were convinced that these symbols were part of our heritage and should not be consigned to oblivion. See that flag there on top of that flag pole?"

Drew looked where Sarge pointed and saw a solid blue flag with a single white star on it. The flag was ripped, torn, and had holes but it still flew proudly.

"That flag was known as the 'Bonnie Blue Flag' and was considered to be the first national flag of the Confederate States during the Civil War over four-hundred years ago. Most people think of the battle flag which was red with a blue St. Andrew's cross and thirteen white stars yet that was, as I said, the battle flag."

"People throughout history have used that flag as a symbol for hatred and rebellion, yet in the end, all of them failed and the flag endured as a symbol of history."

Drew looked across the road and saw the flag that Sarge had just described flying from a flagpole on the opposite side of the road. He pointed it out and Sarge nodded.

"Nowadays, people don't care what an object meant. They see a flag and say 'Hey, we can rally with this'. For instance, the battle flag and the official national flag of the Confederacy became the symbol for the Greycoat Mercenary Company based out of Baton Rouge. Under their banner they have done many great things for the state and for the people who crawled out of the radioactive ash of our once proud civilization."

"That flag there marks one of the Greycoat's outposts. If you're ever in danger, go to them and they'll see you back to friendly territory, so long as you're don't make an ass of yourself of do something they believe to be 'illegal'." Drew thought for a moment and then asked.

"What about the blue flag?" Sarge chuckled.

"Life's greatest irony. People are attracted to flashy patterns and explosive colors. A solid blue flag with a single white star doesn't inspire as many people as say the Stars and Stripes or the Commonwealth Flag or the battle flag of the Confederacy."

"It's a lesson passed down through history. Flags were first used during the Bronze Age, then the middle ages, and then came the age of Empires and colonies and then the steam era, the industrial era, the progressive era, the space era, the science era, the nuclear era, the fusion era. All had their heroes and villains. The flags people loved and the flags they despised."

"A wise philosopher once said that you can tell a lot about a nation by looking at its flag and the patterns and colors within." Sarge walked on for a bit then chuckled about something and turned back to Drew.

"Now then, that's your history lesson for the day, you may expect these to be on the test."

Drew and Izzy both looked curiously at Sarge as he walked off chortling at his joke. Then, Izzy sneezed suddenly and looked to the far side of the bridge. There saw a man in old clothes and leather armor smoking a pipe. He wore his dark hair in braids and had stared into nothing with dark expressionless eyes. He sat with his legs crossed, and a rifle lay nearby. Curiously, Drew went closer only to have a local stop him.

"I wouldn't if I were you. Chief over there don't like the curious sort much. See that poor bastard over there?" Drew looked where the man was pointing and saw the decaying corpse of a man lying in the sun in the gao between the bridges.

"Guy comes up to Chief there, asks where he looked familiar, Chief mumbled something then blew him away with that shotgun of his. No one's approached him since, he just sits there smoking away without a care in the world." Drew thanked the man for the warning but went towards the man they called 'Chief' anyway.

Once he neared the man, the smell of tobacco was everywhere. Drew took a steadying breath and nodded.

"Good day." Chief stopped puffing on the pipe and looked up and nodded.

"Good day." Chief removed the pipe and offered it to Drew.

"You smoke?" Drew had never smoked before but felt it would be rude to decline and nodded. He sat down beside Chief and took a drag on the pipe. Almost immediately he turned green and started coughing, much to the amusement of Chief.

"You turn green like a sick man. Tell me, what is your name?" Drew coughed but managed to clear his lungs.

"Drew. Drew Durr. Yours?" Chief nodded and set the pipe aside.

"I am known to the people here as 'Chief' but to my own tribe I am known as Red Eagle. I come from the lands surrounding what was once the city of Houston, Texas; far to the west. I have come here to hunt down the men responsible for grave crimes against my people." Drew gave a glance to the body down the road and back to Red Eagle.

"That guy over there one of them?" To his relief, Red Eagle nodded.

"Many weeks ago, strangers come into our village. They told us of life beyond the ruined city, of civilization, food, water, land, and safety. Our Chief, Sits-With-Bears, welcomed them into our village and shared our food with them for they said they had had a long journey. They were few, we were many, so we did not think them a threat."

"Yet in the night they struck, slitting the throats of our warriors and women and children and stealing our artifacts and what few items of use we found in the ruined city. One of our greatest treasures was also taken. A silver medallion with a star in it our scouts had found in a place called the 'Ranger Museum'. The medallion was said to have belonged to a great warrior." Red Eagle looked to the corpse and spat at it.

"He is the man who took the medallion off of Sits-With-Bears even as he slit his throat. Medallion was not with him though. I believe it lies with one of the other men who came to my tribe." Drew nodded.

"How many men were there?"

"There were ten. Now nine. Our Chief found a device that can capture people on a little piece of paper for all eternity. The strangers called it a 'camera' and allowed their 'picture' to be taken." Red Eagle produced the picture and held it gingerly with his fingers.

"I have sworn upon my life, and the blood of my ancestors, that I shall not return home until the last of these men lie dead." Drew looked at the picture and Red Eagle willingly showed it to him. Almost immediately, he recognized a face.

"Red Eagle, one of those men there, he's already dead. Seen his body and everything." Drew pointed to a man on the back row who had tried (unsuccessfully) to shield his face.

It was Abe, the merchant from Robeline.

Red Eagle eyed the man and nodded.

"He was man who killed Sits-With-Bears wife and son. Tell me, how did he die?"

"Tried to bargain for his life with raiders and wound up getting his head ripped off." Red Eagle produced a tin of something red and with a finger drew a mark over Abe.

"He died a coward's death then. He will suffer an eternity of horror and shame for what he had done. Now I must find the others. I thank you Drew Durr, for without your information, I would have wasted much time looking for a dead man. When my quest if complete, I shall reward you for your aid." Drew nodded and rose from his seat with Red Eagle and left to rejoin Sarge who was waiting patiently nearby.

"What was his deal?" Drew relayed all he had learned about Abe and his dealings, making Sarge swear colorful oaths that made even the militia Sergeant with them wince.

"I knew he was up to no good when he closed his shop for that so-called 'venture' all those months ago. He returned empty-handed but I doubt empty of pocket. As for this 'Ranger Museum' you heard about, that museum belongs to the Texas Rangers, a group of lawmen from prewar times. They were originally soldiers who became lawmen after Texas joined the United States in the 1800s." Drew nodded and then looked back at Red Eagle.

"Well, I wish him all the luck in the world on that."

Sarge's reply was cut off by a bell ringing on the Overpass. Drew looked around to gauge the people's reactions and needless to say the bell meant something bad was happening. A moment later, his fears were confirmed as a man yelled from the guard post on the bridge.

"Raiders incoming! Anyone who knows how to fight, get up here at once! All others, take shelter and stay out of the fight!"

Drew started but felt Sarge's hand on his shoulder.

"Now just where do you think YOU are going?" Drew rolled his eyes and placed his left hand on his revolver. Sarge chuckled.

"Kid, you seem to be forgetting that one: that pea-shooter is the ONLY weapon you have, two: you ain't got no body armor, and three: you're as bad a shot as my grandmother with your off hand."

"Those raiders in Robeline couldn't get at you because you were on a roof but this time you'll be close enough to smell their collective stink." Sarge looked around and then spied a caravaneer nearby and pointed to him.

"See that fellow there? He's what we call a 'Loaner', they usually stick around settlements like this and loan out weapons and armor to volunteers who want to help defend the town. Loaners are also a branch of the Second Amendment Merchant Company and will sell weapons and ammunition to anyone who wants to fight."

"Their caravans are always heavily guarded and armed so the raiders usually think twice. I'm not going to stop you but if you're dead set on fighting, keep in mind we're out of our town and that people will be watching you." Drew looked at him curiously.

"Watching me?" Sarge nodded.

"Yeah, it's not uncommon for mercenary or militia recruiters to watch how citizens react to attacks and then once the fighting is over, attempt to hire or sign the more skilled defenders into contracts for their companies."

"Not only are the Greycoats here but also the Rattlers, the Second Amendment, and the French Guardsmen. You pull your weight, expect one or more of them to send letters or messages to you once word of you is public knowledge. Now then, since you're one handed at the moment, I would suggest simply getting some armor and heading up there since usually guard posts like these have machinegun emplacements."

Drew nodded to Sarge and then ran towards the Loaner as fast as he could. For some reason, he knew that this was not going to be an ordinary day.


	6. Praise the Lord (And Pass the Ammo)

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 5: Praise The Lord (And Pass The Ammunition)

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Date: April 17, 2285

Location: The Overpass

Time: 1410 hours (2:10 P.M.)

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No sooner had Drew fastened the last strap of the leather armor piece he had recieved from the Loaner than what seemed like a flood of volunteers surged by him and charged up the onramp to the outpost on the south-bound lane of the Overpass. Among those going up, Drew recognized the militia squad he was with, along with Red Eagle, and a few mercenaries wearing the distinctive long grey coats of the Greycoat Mercenaries.

He made his way up and was motioned by a militiaman to a machinegun position near the gate. He listened as the guard near him explained how to load, chamber, and fire the machinegun. While listening to the soldier, Drew looked at the serial plate of the weapon and made out its make and model, an M1918A3 .30 cal.

As Drew went about the checks, Red Eagle came over and sat beside him and nodded.

"My shotgun won't be much help unless they get real close. Since you have only one good hand, I'll stick with you and act as your loader."

"Have you worked with a gun like this before?" Red Eagle nodded.

"Yes. Sits-With-Bears always made sure that we were trained in weapons that were found in both the Ranger Museum and the Armory in Houston. Plus, there were a lot of stores that sold 'military surplus' to people." Drew chuckled and nodded.

"A polite society is an armed society, right?" Red Eagle nodded and then helped Drew load the machinegun.

On Drew's left and right, soldiers armed with rifles ranging from militia-issued M1s to bolt-action and lever-action hunting rifles and one big bear of a man wearing a French Guardsman uniform and a complexion of polished ebony hefted a rifle that looked similar to the Solothurn only a little bit smaller. The man noticed Drew's gaze and chuckled.

"You like my weapon, _monsieur_? Ha, but of course you do. My Brigette, she is one of a kind, just like my wife." The man extended his hand which Drew grasped with his left and winced slightly at the man's iron grip. When he released him, he introduced himself.

"My name is Jaques Cyriaque, although many of my friends call me 'Jack', or 'Hammer'. They think they are being clever when they call me 'the Jackhammer' but then again, when they say it, it is a sign of respect for my... _profession_." Drew raised an eyebrow at that and, noticing the raiders were still nowhere to be seen, hazarded a question.

"What is your profession, Mr. Cyriaque?" Jaques laughed and pointed at the emblem on the right pauldron of his white-silver-blue armor and smiled. The emblem was both a rank and had a deathclaw skull with two crossed swords going through it.

"I am a lieutenant in the French Guard but I am also one, of only eight, professional deathclaw hunters in the state. There were thirteen of us but, as the old saying goes, ' _avec grant richesses, venir grant danger_ ' or..."

"'With great riches, come great danger'." Drew finished, earning an impressed glance from several of the Guard, including Jaques.

"You impress me with your knowledge of French, although it is somewhat guttoral and rudimentary. Forgive me but, while you know MY name I'm afraid I don not know yours."

"Drew Durr, formerly of Robeline." Jaques immediately blanched and muttered something under his breath.

"So the rumors were true, someone really _DID_ survive that hellhole..."

"I didn't know it was already common knowledge." Jaques nodded.

"You can thank the LSM for that. I don't know all the details but suffice it to say that a radio report came on yesterday and again this morning heralding the return of the militia group who had arrived in the city and pulled a barely consious man from the rubble of a collapsed building. Once our buisness here is finished, I would like to hear your side of the story, Mr. Durr." Drew nodded and then chuckled at something.

"You may call me Drew." Jaques nodded and adjusted the scope on his rifle and smiled.

"Then in that case, you may call me Jaques."

At that moment, a bell began ringing and a man on the watch tower leaned over the railing.

"Hold your fire! Looks like one is approaching, alone, he's... he's waving a white flag!" Jaques immediately frowned and muttered a choice selection of curses in both French and English, and even a few in Cajun.

"Wave a white flag will they? I ought to blow his miserable carcass into the next parish and send his soul straight to _enfer_. Nothing gets a point across better than a carcass with a few fifty caliber holes in it." Drew also thought it was weird but was also a little outraged at this.

"How many people have waved the white flag in front of _THEM_ and shown mercy?" Jaques answered with barely contained hatred.

" _Aucun_. None."

The raider stopped before the outpost and set the flag into the soft dirt between the two roads. Even from here, Drew could see the man was smirking arrogantly as if he expected to get his way no matter what the outcome would be. The outpost commander, a man clearly in his late years, stood atop the barricade and hefted a shotgun more appropriate for forcing a ne'er do well to marry his daughter than for combat. His silver-white mustache and beard blowing gently in the wind.

"You come under a white flag raider but we know you don't recognize it. So speak your peace lest these boys here declare open season on you and blow your ass into the next parish!" The raider came forward and an itchy trigger finger from one of the volunteers put a round in the dirt not one foot before the raider who stopped and snarled angrily.

"My bosses send me with an offer. Surrender the one known as Drew Durr and we will leave the Overpass intact. If you deny this reasonable request or kill me, my brothers and sisters behind me will drown the Overpass in a sea of its own blood! Our demands are rather reasonable don't you agree? One man, for the sake of all your lives."

Everyone turned to look at Drew who worried for a moment they were actually going to turn him over to the raiders. Jaques then looked at him.

"What did you do exactly to rile them up like this? Surely you didn't do more than be a lucky survivor of a raider attack?" Drew shook his head.

"The raiders who attacked were the Wolf Skull Marauders. In the course of the battle, I killed ten or thirteen of them, and maimed their leader, a big bastard in improvised power armor. Blew his right arm off with a Solothurn and told him before the building fell with me in it that if I ever got out of this alive, I'd hunt him down and kill him for what he'd done." Jaques looked at him and then laughed.

"And people say _I'M_ crazy. Son, you basically just kicked the leader of the biggest and baddest tribe of raiders in the south in the nuts and told him to go fuck himself. _Now_ I'm not surprised that the LSM broadcasted that you had survived."

"Think about it, a man with a vendetta against the raiders, backed and supplied by the LSM, happens to vanquish the raiders and make it safe to travel along I49 again, you'd be a hero boy, and the LSM would get the credit and the glory because _THEY_ saved you. They want to _USE_ you to further their own adjenda." A man on the other side of Drew coughed and then grimaced.

"Or rather, that bastard Carter wants to further his goals. So... what do we do? Hand over a soon-to-be-pawn of the LSM, or do we fight it out and hope for the best?" Jaques looked to Drew and sighed.

"The French Guard does not believe in giving in to the demands of raiders." A Greycoat officer nodded and then flipped the safety off his weapon.

"Nor do the Greycoats." A volunteer came up and patted Drew on his right (and still smarting) shoulder and smiled.

"Anyone who'd put boot-to-ass for their town and their friends is alright in my book. I say we fight it out. Besides, how many of 'em could there be? We've got soldiers from the LSM here, mercenaries from three of the six Companies here, as well as an army of volunteers. What have we got to lose? I say we praise the Lord and pass the ammunition 'till we're all either dead or victorious."

Jaques settled back into his spot and lined up a shot on the raider.

"Well then, if we're all going to hang, might as well give them something to hang us for." He squeezed the trigger and the recoil of the rifle made the stand shake.

The round flew straight and true and the raider's head scrambled like an egg. Moments later, groups of raider started charging forward, screaming and yelling like a chorus of the damned. The outpost commander nodded and looked to his gunners.

"Machine gunners, open fire. Riflemen, pick your targets and take them down. An extra ration of Reede's special shine to anyone who kills more than twenty of the bastards!"

Drew needed no more encouragement. He pulled the trigger and held on for dear life as the machinegun jerked and rattled about in his hand and spewed lead downrange. Beside him, Red Eagle casually fed ammunition into the gun and kept a weather-eye on the enemy to best judge their distance. Drew found himself raking the rushing raiders line after line.

It seemed that whenever one would fall, three rose in his or her place. The mounting for the gun did a decent job but with him holding onto it by only his left hand, the gun was jumping all over the place.

He kept up continuous and burst fire for a few moments before he felt Red Eagle tap his shoulder. He noticed the gun had fired the last round in the belt and released the trigger, allowing Red Eagle to set to work reloading the gun. The lull allowed him to watch the soldiers around him at work.

First of course was the LSM, mainly scouts and recruits but still efficient with their M1's and .45s. There was even a sniper or two, their distinctive armor and scoped rifles lending them a fierce appearance. The motto of the snipers in the LSM was that they were the 'Last Thing You Never See'.

Next was the French Guard. Minus Jaques, they were each armed with bolt action rifles though some preferred the M1 Carbines used by the militia.

The Greycoats with them used a special kind of weapon thay resembled the rotary shotgun Drew had used but instead of rounds it fired energy bolts. A revolving laser carbine. They also had revolvers and pistols modified to fire full-auto.

The other mercenary outfit here were the Rattlers, a mercenary company known for their brutal efficiency, their improvised weapons, and their hardcore attitude. There was a story once that a group of mercs calling themselves 'Talon Company' had tried to set up shop in the Rattler's area and were ruthlessly gunned down. Those that weren't killed were absorbed into the Rattlers or driven out of the state.

Most mercs used weapons fashioned out of scrap metal or scavenged parts from defunct and broken weapons. Their rifles and submachineguns looked to be a sorry amalgamation of parts but seemed to do their jobs well enough.

Drew returned his attention to Red Eagle who had finished loading the gun and returned to his place as the ammo loader. Drew pulled the trigger again and again the bloodbath began. This time though, the raiders were closer than they had been before and now they were starting to fire at the barricade and taking cover wherever they could.

(These guys are a lot smarter than those others at Robeline.)Drew mused.

A raider broke from cover to run at the barricade just as Red Eagle rose, leveled his shotgun, and fired point blank into the raider who was sent flying backwards by the blast. Red Eagle looked to Drew and nodded.

"When those rounds are exhausted, pull back. Whether you decide to become a pawn of the LSM or sign in with these mercenaries, know that you have earned my trust and respect. Should you need another gun by your side, you know where to find me."

With that, Red Eagle leapt into the fray by the outer barricade where some raiders were in close hand-to-hand combat with the defenders. The Native American drew a broad headed axe from a holster on his hip and started swinging wildly, yelling fiercely in his native tongue as with every swing of the axe, a raider fell dead.

Drew followed Red Eagle's advice and kept firing the weapon. However, once the belt was depleted enough, he had a crazy idea and removed the bolt that fastened the machinegun to the mount and, despite the pain in his right arm, switched his left hand to the handle that was mounted on the barrel and hefted the machinegun like he'd once seen a mercenary do with a minigun.

His left arm held the gun and his right hand and arm absorbed the recoil of the weapon as he fired it. Raiders and defenders alike stopped to gape at him as he walked with the gun into the enemy ranks over the barricade, firing into them all the way.

Behind him, he heard a battlecry in French and glanced to see Jaques, no longer holding Brigette but instead shouldering a modified bolt-action rifle with a shortened barrel, a reinforced stock, and a grenade launcher underneath the barrel.

The rest of the French Guard, all singing some battle song in French, marched with him, peppering the enemy wherever they were and despite their numbers with rapid rifle fire. Next was the Greycoats who held the carbines and sidearms. They leapt the barricade with a series of 'rebel yells' and firing into the raiders while charging forward with reckless abandon.

It was at that moment that the raiders, despite their bravado before, lost heart and started running back down the Interstate. The defenders continued firing at the raiders until long after they had run out of range of the defender's weapons. Drew felt the strength he had possessed during the fight ebb away and slowly set the empty machinegun down and slumped to the cracked, ruined pavement, breathing heavily.

His arm started to ache and immediately reached for one of the stimpacks he'd been given before the fight as well as some Med-X for good measure and sighed with visible relief as the drugs kicked in.

A moment later, he heard the sound of heavy boots behind him and looked up to see Jaques standing there grinning like, as his father was wont to say, 'like a possum eating bumblebees'. The large man helped him gingerly to his feet and laughed all the way back to the barricade.

" _Mon Dieu_ , my friend! That was one hell of a fight! I honestly didn't expect you to grab that machinegun and blaze away at them like you did. Those raiders probably though you were either mad for revenge or demon possessed!" Drew chuckled and nodded.

"In all honesty, I didn't expect that from _MYSELF_. I take it I impressed some people?" Jaques laughed loudly and slapped his back.

"Did you _impress_ anyone? Drew, you impressed every single man and woman standing on that barricade with you. I have been asked to give you a message from not only my superiors but also from the Greycoats that, once you are all healed up, and if you don't have any pressing matters to attend to, stop by our branch offices in Natchitoches. It is possible that you may be taken on as a freelance mercenary for us."

Drew gaped at Jaques in disbelief. He'd heard of people willing to give ANYTHING and EVERYTHING to become part of one of the six companies in Louisiana. Most notably the French Guard, the Greycoats, and the Second Amendment. Jaques continued.

"Anyway, as long as you don't sign a contract with any company making you a member, you can, and will, be contracted by anyone who has jobs for you." Drew nodded but then thought of something.

"What about if I wanted to start my own mercenary company?" Jaques nodded understandingly.

"If that was the case, you'd have to go to Baton Rouge and lay out your case and you plans before the leaders of the six companies. Plus there is the whole matter of territory, your size, what kind of jobs you will or will not accept, things of that nature." Drew raised an eyebrow at that.

"Territory?" Jaques nodded.

"Indeed. For example, the Copperhead Mercenary Company is based out of Shreveport and Bossier City. They share a western border with the Second Amendment at the town of Arcadia and share a neutral border with Natchitoches. What I mean is that Natchitoches, being the dead center of the New Louisiana State, is a neutral zone which is why so many mercenaries from different companies are gathered here."

Jaques took a moment to ask for a map of Louisiana and once one was brought, pointed more things out to Drew.

"The neutral zone is bordered by the Copperhead Mercenaries and uses the towns of Campti and Coushatta as it's 'border'. They also share a border with the Second Amendment around Arcadia. Finally they share a border with the Red River Guard called Trainwreck which operates out of Alexandria and use the settlements of Chopin, Colfax, and Hutton as border towns." Jaques waited for a moment to ensure Drew understood what he was saying.

"Now then, on territory, the Red River Guard shares borders with the Greycoats, the French Guard, Copperheads, and the Rattler Mercenary Corps. The Greycoats, being the oldest and most sought after mercenary unit, is the only corps authorized to work within the capital of Baton Rouge. Other units can recieve requests from Baton Rouge but they must do so under the supervision of the Greycoats." Drew was curious about this and asked why that was the case. Jaques explained more in depth.

"Say for instance you recieved an request to go to Shreveport to deal with something or other? You'd have to first check in with the Copperhead office, then meet with your 'handler', then you would be clear to pursue your target. Once your job was done however, you must pay a 'percentage' to the company in whose territory you took the job in."

"It's complicated but it keeps the peace. Plus, for the most part, the companies know people who become bounty hunters or freelance only do it for their families so the bounty cuts aren't usually high. Though there are some who decide they'd like a bigger slice of the pie." Jaques looked towards a group of Rattler mercs and sighed before looking back to Drew.

"The LSM likes to pretend they can be everywhere but the fact is they cannot. That's why mercenary companies like mine and others play such an important role in the state. We do the jobs that either the LSM isn't equipped to deal with or simply cannot spare the resources to do so."

"That's why the leaders of the Companies each have a seat in the State Senate, and have a vote in internal affairs. We keep the peace so that the LSM doesn't appear weak." Jaques looked to Drew and then lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Now that I've explained the basics to you, I want you to know the reason I'm sharing this with you, who are technically an outsider. Recently, we've been recieving a lot of chatter from out west, east, and up north. Out west there is a new nation calling itself the New California Republic or NCR. Out east there are radio broadcasts from some DJ named 'Three-Dog' about the old capital, Washington D.C., coming alive again and is now spreading outwards." Drew gazed at him in disbelief but for some reason felt that there was more than Jaques was letting on.

"Furthermore, there are reports from Boston, up north, as well as up to the far north we recieved radio contact from the Dakotas as well as Alaska. The old world is coming back to life a little bit at a time and Louisiana is just one of many vying for control over this old nation. There will come a day when we will have to unite under one banner or perish. And I fear that that day is not too far off now."

Drew saw the look in Jaques' eyes. The man before him was a veteran mercenary, a deathclaw hunter, and one hell of a badass, yet even HE seemed shaken by this turn of events. Drew studied the map and then nodded to reassure his friend.

"I'll try not to rock the boat, I promise. However, I cannot rest until the Wolf Skull Marauders are all dead and whatever hole they crawled out of is either burned up, or buried." Jaques nodded and then extended his hand.

"If such a day comes, my friend, I would be honored if you would give me the call to fight by your side. The Marauders have caused nothing but trouble for the Guard and I would see them repaid in blood for my fallen comrades. Oh, a word of advice before you go. When you reach Natchitoches, check in with a friend of mine named Chief, he'll help you get kitted out if you decide to go freelance, plus give you some jobs to get you started."

Drew nodded to Jaques and said goodbye to Red Eagle and, with the LSM squad, Sarge, and Izzy, started along Highway 6 again as soon as he returned the armor he'd borrowed from the Loaner.


	7. The City of Lights

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 6: The City of Lights

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Date: April 18, 2285

Location: Natchitoches, Louisiana

Time: 0700 hours (7:00 A.M.)

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Natchitoches, the City of Lights.

Before the Great War of 2077, Natchitoches had been known as 'the City of Lights' mainly because of it's elaborate Christmas Celebrations. The city would spare no expense and have the Historic District, Residential District, both the North and South Bridges, and the Keyser Avenue lit from end to end with christmas lights. Even the iconic fountain in the middle of Red River would be shining brightly.

There would also be a _MASSIVE_ parade, fireworks, and celebrations carrying on all through the weekend. Natchitoches was also known as the oldest city in Louisiana, founded in 1715, the residents took great pride that their city preceeded the more well known cities of Shreveport, Baton Rouge, and New Orleans.

Natchicotches was home to the Northwestern State University or NSU. It was also home to the Natchitoches Regional Medical Center, Sibley Lake, the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame, the largest of all the Super Duper Marts in Louisiana, was also home to a RobCo and Vault-Tec branch offices, and was assigned a Vault for Operation Safehouse, Vault 43.

When October 23rd, 2077 came along, the city was in the middle of organizing the Christmas lights (they strung so many of them it often took three months to get them ready), people were driving to and from work, and as always, the Super Duper Mart was filled to capacity with customers coming and going.

When the civil defence sirens sounded, people shoved their way past the Vault-Tec security and crammed the Vault well past its advertised 2,000 person capacity. The dwellers survived though, mainly thanks to the Vault's design and the purpose it was designed for: to investigate the possibility of farming techinques underground and to allow for a larger capacity in case of a panic.

It had been over a hundred years since the Vault opened and allowed its inhabitants to witness first-hand what had happened to the city since that fateful day over two-hundred years ago. Remains of Christmas decorations still clung to the lampposts and structures of the Historic District as well as decorations for something called 'Halloween' or 'All Hallow's Eve'.

The outskirts of the city around Sibley Lake were mostly deserted yet once Drew and the soldiers with him passed the old NSU campus, signs of life began to appear.

It wasn't until they reached the Historic District that Drew was greeted with the sight of his life.

The moment his feet touched the brick road of the Historic District, Drew could feel the vibration of hundreds of people walking along its length. Horse drawn carriges, seemingly from some prewar fantasy book rolled by with people greeting each other and continueing on without a care in the world. In the distance, the old bell tower in the City Hall and another from the old Church on Church Street chimed the time. One of the soldiers saw Drew's expression and laughed.

"First time in the city, eh?" Drew nodded blankly while Sarge looked on and sighed.

"This old road has changed so much yet it still remains completely the same as it did in my day." The soldier looked at Sarge with an understanding and then walked forward and raised a hand.

"Ho there! Driver!"

A second later a horse drawn cart stopped and the driver looked at them with a stoic expression. The soldier gave the man a small bundle of caps and then motioned for the others to get on. once they were all aboard, the driver looked at them.

"Where to?"

"City Hall." The driver nodded and knickered to the horse while giving the reins a small jerk.

With effortless grace, the horse and buggy got into the flow of traffic and started down the historic Front Street. A moment later, they heard a whistle and saw a group of MPs run past going down the street. One of the soldiers asked an MP what was happening and the MP replied about someone streaking the citizens further down the street. Sarge grumbled and leaned back in his seat.

"Bah! You'd think it was Mardi Gras around here. Then again, these days you never can tell." The soldier who had hailed the cab gave an embarrassed cough and, eager to show a new guy around town, pointed out the sights.

"Now then, on your left here it the famous Ma and Pa's Oyster and Grill Bar and Restaurant. Don't serve many oysters here nowadays, you know, with the atomic apocalypse? The food's good though, and the only place to get better beer or any other drink is at O'Hara's Pub next to the Hall of Fame. Ah, now THERE's a sight. The Cane Riber Fountain. Placed there around 2005, it has become a landmark in its own right."

Drew listened as the soldier droned on and on about notable places, notable people, and various other things until he felt another soldier nudge his shoulder.

"Sorry about Jay, he's a bit of a nut when it comes to Natchitoches. Hometown pride, so to speak." Drew looked at the soldier curiously.

"You're not from here?" The soldier chuckled.

"Nope. I'm Baton Rouge born and bred. Natchitoches is all well and good, a perfect place for a few days leave, but it lacks the hustle of Baton Rouge or the excitement of Alexandria though I wouldn't be caught dead in Shreveport what with the crime rate up there."

"Also, don't let them fool you, but the Copperhead Mercs? Well, let's just say the name isn't the only snake-like thing about THOSE vipers. Whole city is raider infested and will never be tamed. Like the 'Wild West' or something over there. Unless you got someone in the Copperheads lookin out for you, you're just another walking corpse that don't know it's dead." Drew nodded understandingly but then thought of something.

"We're going to city hall? Why's that?" The soldier looked at Drew then nodded understandingly.

"Simple. The Wolf Skull Marauders have been causing enough trouble to warrant a pursuit after them. This incident in Robeline is effectively the last straw and will likely sway the council to vote for an organization of our resourses to hunt them down and put an end to their violent rampages."

"Our commander in this area, General Weathers, has asked to see you personally as to understand the damage you inflicted upon the raiders, and their combat capabilities. Plus, if you want to sign on for a tour with the LSM, the General's the man you'll want to see."

Drew was about to reply when he noticed that this street was strangely devoid of life and then had a light bling his left eye. Looking up, he caught a glint of glass from the bell tower of the church. Instantly, he went wide-eyed and turned to the soldiers with him.

"Sniper! Get down!"

A shot rang out and the driver of the carrige slumped to the side, his hands slack on the reins. The horse panicked and took off to one side, effectively flipping the carrige and tossing Drew and the others about like ragdolls. The rings holding the reins snapped and the horse bolted down another street. Meanwhile, Drew struggled to right himself and then turned to check on Sarge and Izzy only to be tackled by a soldier yelling 'Get down!' just as another round struck the wreckage where his head had been moments ago.

The LSM soldiers rose to their feet and started firing up at the sniper nest, their rounds piercing the old wooden shutters and striking the bell behind them making small and numberous ' _pings_ '. Drew looked around and saw Sarge pinned under Izzy who was apparently trying to shield him. He saw Drew and yelled something along the lines of 'Get this flea-bitten mutt off of me!'

Drew looked and saw a dead LSM trooper nearby and then grabbed his body armor, helmet, and his rifle, loaded it, and then made a run for the nearby sidewalk. He saw the LSM soldiers with him look at him curiously and Drew nodded.

"I'm going to try and flank him! Cover me while I cross!" The soldier nodded and looked back to his comrades.

"Covering fire!"

In unison, six rifles and two submachineguns opened up on the tower, riddling it with holes as Drew made a mad dash across the street and then, left shoulder first, tackled through the old door to the chucrch which fell forward with a loud 'BANG!' and Drew rolled into one of the back pews.

The continuing echo of sniper rounds assured him that the sniper hadn't heard him enter the church. Spying the staricase to the loft, he moved slowly in between the pews and made his way to the pulpit. A wheezing gasp made him turn sharply to find a man dressed in a priest's robe trying desperately to stop the bleeding from the wound in his neck. Drew eased over to the man and managed to apply a compress over the jagged wound and also administered a Stimpack to help with the healing. The priest smiled weakly.

"Thank you my son. That... Godless heathen... he wore a mark from the Wolf Skull Marauders. God knows how they made it into the city without anyone knowing but... he's the only one still in the church, the rest have moved on to the Police Department."

"Why were they going to the abandoned part of town?" The priest shook his head lightly.

"I don't know. Although, I did hear from a few soldiers that one of them discovered a memo to the Sheriff's Office from the Police Chief about a large illegal firearms bust on an old terminal."

"The Station has been locked down since the bombs fell and plus the weapons are located in a safe on the prison level. God himself only knows what lies undisturbed down there." Drew nodded and then moved to leave when the priest grabbed his arm.

"Here. Take this, my son." The priest grabbed something under the pulpit and produced a 10mm handgun with both an extended magazine and what looked to be a reciever for automatic fire. Drew looked to the priest who smiled wanely.

"God's protection comes in many forms. Some more benign than others but, in this case, something a little more... ballistic... might be called for. God sent you to me and you have helped me. At least allow me to return the favor by giving something to help you." Drew gazed at the handgun and then back to the priest.

"Is this YOURS?" The priest chuckled.

"No. A man from Second Amendment came by a few days ago and was passing out weapons to those who were deemed 'at risk' for attack. God teaches us to welcome all with open arms and shun no one. Even in these times, we work to save the souls of the innocent from eternal damnation."

"It's just a little harder to see who simply wants to confess their sins from those who want to add to their lists. Now go. Stop this murderer before his kills anyone else."

Drew nodded and then proceeded up the staircase, pistol in hand, and reached the base of the belltower. Pausing for a moment, he looked down and spotted a tripwire which led to a small double-barreled shotgun. Gingerly, he stepped over the wire and then snipped it. Drew then grabbed the shotgun in his offhand and eased up the steps in the tower.

Rifle reports continued to echo as he climbed the tower, shotgun in one hand and pistol in the other. Finally, he heard reached the top and heard the sound of a magazine drop and the hurried reloading. Easing up, he saw the sniper, a young man, dressed in LSM fatigues and hefting a heavily modified rifle that he apparently was having trouble unjamming the bolt.

On the last step, there was some broken glass that Drew didn't see and as soon as his foot landed on it, the glass crunched under his boot and the sniper turned, eyes wide in alarm and struggled to turn his rifle on him. Reacting to instinct, Drew leveled the shotgun and fired both barrels point blank.

The Marauder dropped the rifle as his body was blown backwards. He crashed through the old wooden shutters and fell the three stories down to the street below. Drew walked to the opening and then waved to the soldiers on the street below.

"I got him!" One of the soldiers was running to the body, chuckled and looked up, a broad smile on his face.

"I think you got him and a half! Get down here and bring his weapons with you!"

Drew gathered the rifle, the two hanguns, and the ammunition stored here and also found a small bag containing 35 caps and started back down. As he reached the area, he looked around for the priest but didn't see him and then guessed he went outside to seek treatment.

Outside, he saw the body and walked up witht he weapons and handed them to the soldiers.

"Hey, check the local infirmaries. There was a priest in there who gave me a weapon. Did you see him come out?" The soldier cocked an eyebrow but then shook his head.

"Nope. Only people I saw come out of that church was you and this guy you, heh, ' _airmailed_ ' through a bellfry. So, any idea why the Marauders came into town, or how?" Drew remembered what the priest had told him and then relayed that to the soldiers. He was rewarded with them visually paling. Sarge came up and sighed.

"Back in the old days, S.O.P. for gun busts was to record the serial numbers, if any, and once the case was closed, destroy the guns. If I recall correctly, NPD was boasting about a joint takedown with the NPSO of an armed chem dealer and managed to score a literal arsenal of all kinds of firearms, some with numbers, but most without. Sheriff's Office didn't have a safe for the weapons so they were placed in the evidence lockup."

"That was the day _before_ the bombs fell so... there's a good chance the weapons are still there and... possibly the prisoners who were in the lockup if the radiation didn't kill them." The soldier looked at Sarge.

"You mean that they..." Sarge nodded.

"Yep. It's possible they became ghouls and worse... they went feral from being locked up in there for so long. Plus, I know for a fact that not every police officer was as lucky as Drew's ancestor to get in the Vault." The soldiers gulped and then looked to one another. Drew saw their looks and managed to put two and two together.

"You guys don't like dealing with feral ghouls, do you?" The soldiers nodded.

"We're recruits. We mainly escort people to and from places or deal with drunken soldiers or the occasional raider attack. Ghouls though... that's like dealing with zombies or something from those old horror vids. We'll help you deal with the raiders but the moment you get to the lockup, count us out." Sarge grunted and then eyed the LSM recruits with disdain.

"So _wonderful_ to know the limits to which the LSM's FINEST will go to ensure the people's safety. All the raiders have to do to stop you lot is chain a few ferals to a 'Keep Out' or 'Posted' sign and you'll stay away." The soldiers grunted and then started towards the street that would lead them to the Police Station.

Sarge looked at Drew who shrugged and then whistled for Izzy who came running after him. Together, the three of them started off after the soldiers as they went to the station.


	8. The Station

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 7: The Station

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Date: April 18, 2285

Location: NPD Station, Natchitoches, Louisiana

Time: 1147 hours (11:47 A.M.)

_*_*_*-8-8-8-8-8-8_*_**_**_*-8-8-8-8-8-8*

It took time to navigate the streets through the abandoned areas of Natchitoches. Drew and company passed numerous burned out homes, collapsed buisnesses, and destroyed cars. The first clue they were near the station was a small building with a sign over the door.

'CITY OF NATCHITOCHES POLICE DEPARTMENT RECORDS BUILDING.'

Drew pointed to the sign and Sarge nodded and then looked to another structure.

"There's the garage where damaged police cruisers and fire engines were repaired. The building right next to it is the old Civil Records building. It was moved there in 2068 after a spy tried to steal public records of the city's railroad transportation network. The mayor back then figured the records would be safer under the eyes of the NPD." Drew nodded and then gazed at a medium sized red brick building.

Though corroded with age and ash, Drew recognized the building as the Police Station thanks to the half-destroyed wording on the side. Almost absently, he felt the object he carried in his back pocket and walked towards the door. Sarge saw him.

"Kid, what're you doing? That way is the main entrance to the station. You'd need an executive passcode or an officer's badge number to enter!"

The group of soldiers looked at Drew who then produced his grandfather's badge from his pocket and stopped before the door. Drew looked at the badge and ran his fingers over the gold shield and entered his ancestor's badge number.

'705'

There was a low buzzing noise as the door unlocked and, pulling the door open, Drew, Sarge, Izzy, and the soldiers entered the building. Once inside, they were greeted by an astonishing sight. Though there WERE some ghouls scattered about, the majority of the dead bodies belonged to the Marauders. As he worked his way around the bodies, a gruff voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Alright smoothskin. One more step and I'll show you just what law and order means in this godforsaken world." Drew looked and saw three ghouls dressed in threadbare prewar police uniforms and, though their badges were rusty and dull, they still maintained the bearing of the police officers they once were.

Drew raised his hands, badge in hand, and looked at the leader of the group.

"Hold your fire." The ghoul fixed him with a steely glare and then gazed at the badge in Drew's hand.

"Alright, how'd you get the badge?"

"I'm Drew Durr. My grandfather was Lieutenant Aaron Durr of the NPD." For the first time ever, Drew witnessed a look of surprise on a ghoul's face. As the ghoul lowered the shotgun, he came forward and gazed at him more closely.

"Heh, you sure look like the LT. Alright then kid. Tell me something only the LT would have known. What was the craziest thing that ever happened to his unit?" Drew thought back to all the tales he'd heard from his father and grandfather about their ancestor and then remembered something that stood out.

"On January 27th, 2075, Squad 5 of the Natchitoches Police Department wrecked a total a seven squad cars due to the weather caused by a polar vortex. Because of severe icing on the roads, Officers Durr, Clementez, Young, Basco, and Briggs, while responding to an ice-related accident, lost control of their cruisers and smashed into other vehicles along the I49 Overpass. The other two cruisers wrecked while responding to THEIR accident. This incident became the reason the NPD began being issued deicing chemicals whenever winter weather was to be expected."

Sarge and the soldiers looked at Drew for a moment and then were shocked when the officers started laughing.

"Yeah, that's right, heh, the LT never let me live _THAT_ down. Hot _damn_ , you _ARE_ his kid! So, he and Anne made it to the Vault alright. I'm glad. I wouldn't have wanted them to experience this particular type of hell." The ghoul then extended his hand.

"Sergeant Jose Clementez, I was your Grandpa's partner when he was on the force. So, what brings you to the Station?"

"We stopped a sniper at the Church Street Church and heard the Marauders are here to steal a cache of prewar weapons that was taken the day before the bombs fell." Clementez nodded and then sighed.

"I though as much. Damndest thing, I often complained about destroying weapons, especially when they were rare ones, but now I'd give ANYTHING for a damn armored truck and a blast furnace. Still, I guess that the end of the world means that the weapons aren't illegal anymore. Don't look so surprised, those LSM radioes still use the same frequency that our old portables." Clementez then turned to the stairs.

"A few of those guys made it down below, so we hit the release button for the cells below. Heh, all the thieves, drunks, and other criminal types that were down there were shielded from lethal radiation but were still turned into ghouls like us. Only thing, they're out of thir damn minds. Well, all but one that is."

"Who's the one?"

"Terrence 'Two-Ton' Brown, he's the chem dealer we apprehended with the weapons. Used to be an enforcer for one of the local gangs, got the nickname not because he was big but because the first time he killed someone, he ran 'em down with a two-ton pickup truck."

"We'd been after that bastard for years. When we finally catch him, the world ends and it became hell on earth. Bastard murdered twenty-seven people and had killed untold numbers more with the ammount of chems he was pushing onto the streets. He never saw a judge, a jury, and I and my friends here would have given anything to see him fry in the electric chair."

Drew nodded and then started towards the door only to be stopped by Clementez.

"If you're going down there, you can have the weapons and ammo from the lockup. Thing is, once the prisoners got loose, they wouldn't go back in their cells. They're feral, but they still recognize us as the ones who put them behind bars in the first place. I know I don't seem... sympathetic... but hearing them wail and moan day in and day out... grant them peace. Oh, and if you see Brown down there, put that bastard out of OUR misery."

Drew nodded and then started towards the steps and then turned back to see the LSM soldiers standing by. Remembering what they had said, he sighed.

"You soldiers stay up here in case more raiders come in. Sarge, you, me and Izzy will go down there and pacify the inmates."

Sarge nodded and then looked to the gun cabinet in the ready room.

"Hey Sergeant, any weapons you can spare? Drew's got his pistol and I've got a shotgun he found for me but that's it." Clementez nodded and went to the ready room and spoke from the room.

"We've got two shotguns, three semi-auto carbines, and...hello there, I've got two SWAT issue submachineguns here. Looks like we've got plenty of 10mm ammo. We've also got a workbench and some addons and mods for them if you want to fix them up. Trust me, those guns and the criminals down there aren't going anywhere anytime soon."

Drew nodded thankfully and took one of the SMGs and went to the workbench. There, he fitted a new stock to the weapon, a foreward grip, extended 'drum' magazines, a reflex sight, and finally a flashlight. He looked over to Sarge who chuckled.

"Hey, no cheating on the exams, ha!" Sarge hefted his SMG and examined it before nodded that he was satisfied and loaded a magazine and pulled the bolt, chambering a round and making sure the weapon was safe.

"Ready kid?" Drew nodded, also chambering the weapon, and then nodded to Izzy who went to his side instantly. Another of the ghoul officers opened the door which opened with a metallic creaking noise. Drew looked to Sarge.

"Cover me." Sarge nodded and followed behind Drew as he descended the stairs.

As they reached the basement where the lockup was located, a snarling, hissing, growling cacophany was heard. Drew prepared to open the door, Sarge stood before the door, gun ready, and Izzy was right behind Drew, growling lowly. He realized that she smelled something on the other side of this door and she did NOT like it, whatever it was.

With a jerk, Drew pulled the door opened and Sarge came face to face with a feral ghoul who ignored Sarge, then turned to Drew and Izzy and snarled angrily. Sarge flipped the safety off the weapon and fired a burst into the ghoul who fell backwards, dead, a last gasp escaping from its lungs. Drew looked to Sarge who sighed as he looked at the ghoul, then looked at Drew.

"Sorry. They're all ghouls in here. I... I remember the day before the war that a student I taught had been arrested and locked up here. I just... I've seen how much pain feral ghouls are in... The worst part is that I can't do a damn thing to help them. All you can do to end it is to put them out of their misery. Doing for them what I could never do for myself."

Drew didn't know what it meant to be a ghoul and honestly he hoped he'd never find out. Still, the look on Sarge's face made it hit home, the magnitude of what they were doing.

Cautiously, Drew stepped into the station cell lockup and eased past the first block of cells. Though the station had a fusion core backup generator, it seemed the core may have been on it's last legs as the lighting in the lockup was poor and lights continually flickered or went off for a moment and then came back on. He heard his feet make a squelching sound and looked down to see that he was standing in a pool of blood.

Blood that led to a nearby dead raider with three ghouls ripping him apart.

Drew leveled his weapon, flipped the safety off, and fired a burst into the first ghoul. The other two rose and started at him immediately. He fired a burst into the second which was low and took the ghoul's legs out from under it. The third he fired at and took down. He heard a growling and saw the ghoul crawling towards him until a burst from behind him made him remember that Sarge was behind him.

The ghoul was killed by that burst but now the growls, wails, and cries of the feral ghouls who were dormant now became loud and often. Sarge growled as he came up beside Drew.

"Why do I feel like we just woke the dead?"

Drew didn't reply as four more ghouls rose from a nearby cell and charged at them, snarling and hissing. Drew pulled the SMGs trigger and held on for dear life as it fired full-auto into the onrushing ghouls. Glancing to his right, he saw another group charging at them and Sarge was standing there peppering them as well. Drew looked at Sarge and hollered over his shoulder.

"How many inmates could the station hold?"

"Normally twenty but possibly forty when overcrowded. Judging by these bodies, I'd say the police were close to hanging a 'No Vacancy' sign on the door." Drew muttered a curse and then gazed down the hallway with open cells on either side of it.

"Think the evidence locker is down that hallway?" Sarge turned to him and shrugged.

"Only one way to find out kid, and that's forward."

Izzy went in front of Drew, cautiously sniffing anything that she felt would threaten Drew. Once or twice, she came to a raider and gave it a cautious sniff or a bite before leaving it alone. The ghouls she sniffed and watched to see if there were ANY signs of life from them but refrained from biting.

For that Drew was grateful because ghouls were walking, living, breathing conduits of radiation. Being scratched, bitten, or even breathed on by a ghoul introduced trace radiation to a person.

Despite Sarge's grim predictions, they didn't run into any other ghouls. It appeared that the raiders did a good enough job of clearing them out before they themselves were killed. Drew, Sarge, and Izzy made it to the last cell row when they heard a rustling to their left. Instinctively, Drew raised his weapon and turned to face the noise when a voice called out.

"Hold it pal. You don't want to get trigger happy now do ya?"

Sarge and Drew looked on as Izzy growled low and menacingly as an old rotten mattress was flipped over, bathing the cell with an eerie green light.

Still dressed in a prison jumpsuit, a glowing ghoul rose to his feet, dusted off his legs in a nonchalant way and started towards them.

"So, some new people to talk to. Not like the more... feral company I've had for the past few years... no uniforms so you're not police or whatever the hell passes for an authority these days, and you haven't shot me yet so you aren't like the 'guests' my fellow inmates 'entertained' recently. Which means you must be scavengers and that you've 'taken care' of the officers who didn't blow their brains out when they turned into... whatever the hell your friend and I turned into which must also mean you are here for whatever is in the evidence lockup down that way. So tell me, am I right?"

Drew was about to answer when Sarge placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a direct 'shut the hell up and let me do the talking' look.

"That's right. The station is clear except for you and us. May we have your name?"

The glowing one stood and folded his hands behind his back.

"My name is Terrance Brown. You can call me Mr. Terrance, or Mr. Brown. Now that the formalities are out of the way, I have a proposition that might interest you fine gentlemen. When I was... detained unlawfully in the day, my personal effects and equipment of my trade were placed into the lockup here."

"Now, I will say that some of the fellows here before are down there but from the sound of the swearing they haven't had much luck with the electronic locks and I just so happen to know the combination to the locks. I just need you to do one, small, insignificant favor for me. Open. This. Cell."

When he'd spoken those last words, he'd placed his hands on the bars and smiled. Sarge then looked to Drew and then back to Terrance.

"Now why, per say, would we want to do that?" Terrance's smile faded and he took on a more dangerous tone of voice.

"Well now that's the trick isn't it? The locks down there are electronically locked, plus, there are more of those...'people' down there and they seem to be VERY gun crazy. Now I can go back to hiding but what's to stop them from finding you two if say, someone starts yelling? Plus, even if you kill me I notice that none of your weapons are suppressed meaning the gunfire will be VERY loud right here and maybe draw some attention. Get the drift?"

Sarge frowned but then looked to Drew and then nodded.

"Alright, what's the code to the doors?" Terrence returned to a smile.

"Simple. The code is keyed to the officer in charge's birthdate and badge number. The officer in charge of the lockup was one Lieutenant Aaron Durr. All you have to do is find the personel records upstairs." Drew couldn't help but smile and then chuckle.

"Seriously? That's all? My grandfather's birthday was November 11, 2037, and I have his badge right here." Terrence went wide-eyed and then started growling angrily.

"YOU are the GRANDSON of Aaron DURR?! That bastard who LOCKED me here?! Damn him! I had a place in the Vault! I was supposed to be IN the Vault but thanks to him, I was in prison when the bombs fell and I became THIS! Damn you, damn you and your Grandfather to HELL! I should have killed him and his wife when I had the chance instead of going after his damn brother!"

Terrence Brown began to glow and Drew's geiger counter on his Pipboy began going off. Drew frowned at the ghoul and leveled the SMG to Brown's face who, too late, realized what he'd just said and looked to Drew.

"Officer Clementez sends his regards, Two-Ton." Brown roared a final yell of defiance as Drew squeezed the trigger and then proceeded to empty the entire drum magazine into the ghoul." Sarge looked at Drew who sighed before reloading the weapon.

"One of my Grandfather's biggest regrets was that the man who murdered his brother never faced justice for his crimes. No one seemed to know who had done it but he'd had his suspicions." Drew walked from the cell before looking back at Brown's corpse and then looking at Sarge.

"You know something? I can't explain it but I feel as if a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders."

Sarge noticed this as Drew went towards the door leading to the lockup. Drew indeed seemed relieved about something.

As Drew went to the door, the commotion which Brown had warned them about had died down although there were still some quieted swearing.

"I told ya getting these weapons wouldn't be that easy. Can you believe it? We started with twelve people for this raid and now it's down to just the four of us."

"Keep quiet will ya? I swear I heard something that sounded like gunfire from above. Feral ghouls can't shoot guns can they?"

"Hell no, they're _FERAL_ ghouls, they don't have the neccessary brainpower to know one end of a gun from the other much less shoot one."

"Dammit! Will you three pipe down? I swear to you I've almost got this thing unlocked. Just need a little... more... time... DAMN! Another lockpick broke to hell. That's it. Mace, grab the satchel charges. So what if we lose some of the goods to the explosion? At least we get out with SOMETHING."

Drew eased around to the corner and then looked to Sarge who nodded.

"You take two, I take two?" Drew nodded and then steadied himself with a deep breath and held up three fingers.

Three...

Two...

One...

Drew and Sarge stormed around the corner and opened fire on the surprised group of raiders who were trying to set a charge on the door to the lockup. One raider managed to draw his weapon and fire a shot before Sarge turned him into a collinder. Drew went forward and made sure the raiders were dead and then turned to Sarge and saw him leaning against the wall.

"Sarge! You okay?" Sarge nodded but then winced.

"Yeah, but DAMN! I forgot how much getting shot hurts! Bastard who got off a shot got me. Ah, hold on a moment..." Drew came up to Sarge and looked where a slightly greenish-red blood was leaking and then sighed.

"You say THAT hurts? That's a scratch!" Sarge huffed and then looked away.

"Yeah kid, but remember, I'm two-hundred years old. For me, a scratch may be all that takes to kill me." Drew laughed and then set his SMG aside next to the ghoul to go to the door of the lockup. As he moved the body of the lockpicker aside, he called over his shoulder.

"A scratch ain't going to kill you old man. You're too damn stubborn to stay dead, and neither Heaven nor Hell want a part of THAT fight." Sarge burst out laughing while Drew knelt down to the door and studied the lock. The first door had what looked to be an 8-digit display and the one beyond, a 3-digit.

Drew input the first passcode: '11112037'.

The door released an audible mechanical 'buzz' as Drew opened it and then he entered his grandfather's badge number into the second door which let out the same buzz as it was opened and once inside, Drew looked around and whistled.

"Hey, Sarge! Come look at this!"

A moment later, Sarge came into the lockup and whistled at the weapons around them.

" _God-Almighty_ , what a haul! Look at this, pistols, revolvers, submachineguns, bolt-action rifles, lever-action rifles, semi-automatic rifles, pump shotguns, automatic shotguns, assault rifles, and is... is that a damn _BAZOOKA_?! Holy moly."

Sarge went to the weapons and lifted a small pistol from the pile and held it reverently. Drew noticed Sarge's expression and smiled.

"So Professor, what kind of weapon is that?" Sarge showed the elegant weapon to Drew and smiled.

"This, my young pupil, is a Luger P.08, the crown jewel of any gun collector's collection from the pre-war days. A collector was not truly a collector unless he had a Luger or Luger varient in his collection."

"This weapon was the successor to the Mauser C96 and the Borchardt Pistol and served with the German Army in both World Wars and was HIGHLY prized by American soldiers due to its rarity and reliability. To find one in this day and age is akin to finding a diamond in a radhog's ass." He then looked to Drew and sighed.

"Clementez said we can have these weapons right? Well, if I have no other weapon from this cache, I want this Luger." Drew nodded understandingly.

"If you want it Sarge, you can have it. Besides, I already have TWO pistols, what would I want another for?" Sarge nodded appreciatively and then picked up the Luger's holster, fastened it to his belt, and holstered the rare weapon.

Drew pushed past him and he asked Sarge what a few weapons were and then he found a terminal and accessed it. The password, knowing his great-great-great-great grandfather, was either his grandmother's name, birthday, or his great-great-great grandfather's name or birthday.

He was right with his grandmother's name.

The lockup inventory flashed across the screen and Drew quickly took note of it.

WEAPONS SEIZED:

ONE (1) LUGER P.08 PISTOL, 9MM, SERIAL NUMBER 04428.

THREE (3) .45 CALIBER HANDGUNS (M1911 KNOCKOFFS), .45 CALIBER, NO SERIAL NUMBERS.

TWO (2) WESTEK .50 CALIBER _DEFENDER_ HANDGUNS, .50 CALIBER, SERIAL NUMBERS 1145 AND 2077.

SIX (6) RIFLES, CIVILIAN BRANDS, NON-MILITARY, VARIOUS CALIBERS, NO SERIAL NUMBERS.

EIGHT (8) WESTEK 10MM SWAT-ISSUE SMG-ASSAULT RIFLE CONVERSIONS, 10MM, ONE SERIAL NUMBER 114567, OTHER FILED OFF.

TEN (10) SHOTGUNS (PUMP, SEMI, AND FULLY AUTOMATIC) CIVILIAN AND MILITARY ISSUE, 12 GAUGE, NO SERIALS.

(NOTE:) CHECK WITH LOCAL NATIONAL GUARD QUARTERMASTER FOR 'MISSING' WEAPONS.

NINE (9) ASSAULT RIFLES, VARIOUS TYPES, VARIOUS CALIBERS, NO SERIALS.

(NOTE:) AGAIN, CHECK WITH NG QUARTERMASTER. (IS THAT IDIOT LAZY, CROOKED, OR JUST DUMB AS A POST?)

ONE (1) REVOLVER/SHOTGUN HYBRID, 4-10 CALIBER, NO SERIAL. SUSPECTED IN MURDER OF ALEXIS REED (CASE No: AR1M-224577, CLEMENTEZ, JOSE ASSIGNED).

ONE (1) M8A4 BAZOOKA (WTF?), 65MM, BELIEVED STOLEN FROM NG ARMORY.

(NOTE:) HOW THE HELL DOES SOMEONE STEAL A _B-A-Z-O-O-K-A_? _AGAIN_ , CHECK WITH THE NG QUARTERMASTER AT EARLIEST POSSIBLE CONVENIENCE. (IF THE BASTARD DOESN'T ANSWER OR GIVES ME THE RUN AROUND, GO OVER HIS HEAD TO COL. FOSTER, CO, LAANG FORT POLK, LEESVILLE.)

ADDENDUM: LABEL THE NG QUARTERMASTER AS HYPN. I'M SICK OF DEALING WITH THIS ASSHOLE.

ONE (1) M2 BROWNING .50 CAL HEAVY MACHINEGUN (WTF?), .50 CALIBER, BELIEVED STOLEN FROM NG ARMORY. IN ADDITION, 2500 ROUNDS, .50 CALIBER AMMUNITION.

(NOTE:) ARE THE MPS AT THE ARMORY BLIND OR SOMETHING? YOU COULD PROBABLY SNEAK A TANK BY THOSE BLOCKHEADS AND GET AWAY WITH IT.

ADDENDUM: SHOULDN'T HAVE JINXED IT LIKE THAT. CLEMENTEZ JUST ASKED FOR THE MILLIONTH TIME IF HE COULD CHECK OUT THE BAZOOKA WE CONFISCATED (AND THE NG FAILED (AGAIN) TO CLAIM. I'M CONSIDERING LENDING IT TO HIM JUST TO SHUT HIM UP FOR FIVE SECONDS.

VARIOUS SIZE AND TYPE KNIVES, AXES, SWORDS (WTF?), A BUSH HOOK, AND A ROLLING PIN.

DRUGS SEIZED:

TEN (10) DOSES JET

TEN (10) DOSES PSYCHO

TEN (10) DOSES HYDRA

FORTY (40) DOSES STEADY

TEN (10) DOSES X-CELL

FIVE (5) DOSES DADDY-O

SEVENTY (70) DOSES 'PSYCHOJET'

ONE-HUNDRED FIFTEEN (115) MENTATS PACKAGES (CONTENTS IN BOX LABELED FOR SALE TO STUDENTS AT NSU AND NCHS. SENT REPORT TO DRUG TASK FORCE TO SPEAK TO THE PRINCIPAL OF NCHS AND DEAN OF NSU REGARDING THESE DRUGS.)

(NOTE:) PSYCHOJET. I HEARD THESE CHEM DEALERS WERE COMBINING DRUGS INTO NEW AND VARIOUS COCKTAILS. TO COME UP WITH SOMETHING LIKE _THIS_ THOUGH, TWO-TON MUST HAVE BEEN HOPPED UP ON HIS OWN SUPPLY.

MISC:

SEVERAL TYPES OF ILLEGAL 'FRAG' AMMO, MAKESHIFT BODY ARMOR, SERVERAL TYPES AND SUB-CALIBERS OF AMMUNITION INCLUDING 9MM, 10MM, 5.56, .223, .45, .44, 7.62MM, 8MM, .50 CALIBER, AND TEN (10) ROUNDS 65MM API BAZOOKA ROUNDS (AGAIN, WTF?).

(NOTE:) NOT A TANK, BUT STILL THIS IS GETTING _ABSOLUTELY_ REDICULOUS. JUST WHAT THE HELL ARE THE FRONTLINE TROOPS FIGHTING WITH? STICKS, STONES, AND HARSH LANGUAGE? ALL THEIR WEAPONS ARE STUCK HERE IN LOCKUP.

Sarge whistled as he looked over the list and read Drew's grandfather's notes and then eyed the bazooka and the other weapons carefully.

"Hey Drew, you know something? If you wanted to, you now have enough weapons, ammo, and body armor here to start your own mercenary company, or at least you would be well equipped for any situation, save a nuclear blast." Drew nodded.

"I've thought of that, but first, I would need the caps to buy the rights to do so as well as territory that we could base ourselves out of. For the moment, I'm just happy working as a freelance merc. Once we deal with the Wolf Skull Marauders, we'll see where we stand." Sarge nodded then looked back up to the way the station was then turned.

"What about the LSM? You know they'll want to confiscate the weapons." Drew thought for a moment and then chuckled.

"I don't think it's wise to tick off the LSM but, for this once, I think we can make an exception to that. Let's lock up the room, take whatever is salvageable off the raiders, and then report the area as inaccessable."

"Inaccessable due to...?"

"Glowing One radiation. We could say that the area is irradiated due to Brown. Or we could say that the raiders blasted the door and brought a support down." Sarge nodded and then grabbed the charge.

"Best make it convincing then. I'll set the charge near Brown's cell and hopefully it'll bring down a support over the door to the lockup and not much else."

Drew nodded and together they started back up, dropped the charge by the door, and then, with a glance, started running to the door and then up the stairs.

Once at the top they were greeted by Clementez and the LSM soldiers who only had a moment before Sarge's eyes met their's.

"GET DOWN!"

Moments later, an explosion rocked the station and knocked quite a bit of dust from the ceiling. Moments later, Clementez rose and looked to Drew and Sarge.

"What the holy hell was THAT?!" Drew shook dust from his hair and sleeves before speaking.

"Raiders had a suicide charge fixed. When we reached the lockup, bastard pulled a fuse and we started running. By the way, Brown is dead. He became a Glowing One and as a result, the lower level is irradiated." Clementez nodded and then thought of something.

"Tell me something, when you killed him, did he say anything?" Drew nodded.

"He said he was responsible for my killing my grandfather's brother." Clementez was lucky he was sitting down because the news of this revelation absolutely floored him.

"All this time... we had the bastard right beneath our feet... poor Liam... the LT was absolutely devastated when they reported his brother's murder over the radio. Shot point blank with a shotgun. We suspected Brown because it fit his M.O. Whenever someone was getting close or moving in on his operations or territory, their loved ones usually turned up dead."

"I'm glad you ended that bastard." Drew nodded and the looked to the wall and saw a picture of his grandfather and a man, he presumed, was his great uncle Liam and smiled.

"You and me both Clementez. You and me both."

As Drew turned and left the station, the LSM soldiers with him fell in and once on the street, the squad leader looked to him.

"Two firefights in a day, eh? Damn, you sure lead an interesting life." Drew chuckled but it wasn't with humor.

"Not by my choice. I just have a bad habit of pissing off the wrong kind of people." The soldiers around him laughed.

"That's the understatement of the century. Anyway, orders came through on the radio. The General's in a conference about how the hell the raiders slipped our pickets and sensors so the debriefing'll have to wait. In the meantime, you've been granted quarters in the Saint Denis hotel. Get some rest, recover, and either tomorrow or the day after, expect to be called to the General's office."

Drew nodded he understood and gazed in the distance at the city that lay before him, worried yet excited about what the future held for him.


	9. A Moment's Respite

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 8: A Moment's Respite

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Date: April 19, 2285

Location: Hotel Saint Denis, Front Street, Natchitoches

Time: 0820 (8:20 A.M.)

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Drew first awoke when the rays of the sun came through the old drapes and shined in his eyes. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he tried to rise but stopped when he felt a weight on his feet. There, lying across his feet, was Izzy. The wolf/shepard mix dog was breathing steadily as if without a care in the world. In the next room, he heard a raspy, noisy rattling and realized that it was Sarge who had fallen asleep next door.

Despite himself, Drew found himself smiling as he looked at Izzy and chuckled at the sheer volume of Sarge's snoring and then thought of something.

 _(That's right. The last time we actually had a comfortable night's sleep was the day before we were attacked. Since then I've been through three... no, FOUR firefights, been pulled from a building, walked some thirty miles from Robeline to Natchitoches, lost a good friend, made another, and met people from three of the six Merc Companies... These last few days have been ANYTHING but boring...)_

Drew shifted his feet which caused Izzy to stir and she looked at him with a glance that spoke 'Why'd you wake me up?' Drew chuckled and patted Izzy on the head which was enough to appease her and she lay her head back down onto her front paws and resumed dreaming whatever it is that wolf-dogs dream of.

The accomodations in the room were startlingly posh considering that he was technically a nobody. A ranger from Robeline. Then again, he recalled that Sarge had said the hotel was one of the biggest and best in Natchitoches, with a sweeping view of Cane River Lake and a clear view of downtown Natchitoches.

It was no surprise that the LSM quartered their officers and NCOs here, nor that the top floor of the hotel was exclusively used for tactics and recon reports regarding the raider threat to the area.

Still, Drew didn't complain. The room had fresh water, thanks to the water purification plant on Sibley Lake. The refrigerator had an assortment of food including radhog bacon and ham, radigator meat, radstag meat, brahmin milk, beer, wine, and a few other choice alcoholic drinks.

As he ate and drank, he remembered the mercenary Jacques words to him.

"Perhaps I'd best seek out this guy 'Chief'. Also, while I'm thinking about it, I'd best look up Macy and see if she's heard anything from Emily. I doubt they've heard about what happened." Drew took a deep breath and sighed.

"I wonder if I should bring Izzy... no... if Macy reacts like I _THINK_ she'll react, Izzy might attack her. No... best I go alone today."

Drew pulled the article of clothing he had purchased from the LSM Quartermaster the day before, a Vault jumpsuit with the number '43' emblazoned on the back. Thankfully, he had found a few pieces of armor on the raiders he had killed in the station the day before and had either cut out or scratched off the raider markings so that the LSM wouldn't confuse him as an enemy.

He gazed into the cracked mirror in the bedroom and sighed at how his appearance was changed. Gone was the young man whose pitch black hair, blue eyes, and fair complexion had once wooed one of the local girls, Sally-Mae. His face had some small half-healed cuts where some glass from the fallen building had scratched him, he had also started growing a beard and moustache and his eyes no longer shown with an innocence.

That had been lost when Will's throat had been cut.

His clothes he had worn from Robeline to the Overpass and into Natchitoches were so threadbare, ripped, and bloody that they had to be burned. In the reflection of the mirror, the blue and gold of the jumpsuit stood out against the brown and black leather armor that he had scavenged. A few pieces of metal plates had been bolted to the leather chestplate to give it extra protection.

Lastly, Drew reached for his weapons belt. In his holster was still the .357 revolver of his grandfather. He took out the weapon and gazed at it, checked the cylinder for ammo, then holstered it. On his opposite hip was the 10mm SMG from the Police Station. Lastly, he took the rifle he'd taken from the sniper in the church, a scoped M1, and slung the strap over his shoulder.

Under the directions from the soldiers who had been with him, he had taken a hammer and pounded out the LSM insignia from the weapon to prevent anyone from accusing him of being one of the Black Market.

Once he was suited and geared up, he left the room and walked to the elevator.

_*_*_**-8-8-8-8*_*_*_*_*_*-8-8-8-8-*_*_*_*_*_8-8-8-

At roughly ten after nine, Drew found himself standing before a small building on Keyser Avenue. Many of the buildings around here, the Broadmoore Shopping Center, the Super-Duper Mart, the Vault Tec offices, and the Robco office were converted to residential buildings to house the many people who came out of the Vault and to help house the population that was bound to increase.

All the queries about Macy had led him to this building. A small office building belonging to some Robco employee during the days leading up to the war. Outwardly, the building was... unremarkable; yet Drew felt more afraid of going through that door than any other door he'd ever gone through before.

Tentatively, he reached for the door and knocked. He felt his worry growing as the delay grew longer before finally, the door opened and he gazed into the deep green eyes of the person he'd been looking for. Will Coleson's older sister, Macy Coleson.

The darkness of the room lent to the bedraggled look of her. Her vibrant red hair stuck out in a mess, her eyes lit up briefly when she saw him but then that spark died when she saw Drew's face. Instead, she flashed a wry grin and then opened the door.

"So... Drew Durr... heh, nice getup, what the heck did you do join the LSM or something?" Without letting him answer, she sighed and then leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed.

"So, what did Will do this time? Nail a rotting carcass to Abe's outhouse? Get in a drunken brawl at the Doc's place? Clean out Bruno at Craps?" Drew tried to speak but couldn't force the words to his mouth. As his brain formed the words, he also relived the memory of seeing Will captured, the raider laughing as he slit his throat. He noticed Macy's expression change from one of amuzement to one of confusion.

"Drew? You normally blab everything about what's happened every time I visit. What's wrong?" Drew finally forced the lump in his throat down and looked at Macy. Despite everything he felt, he couldn't keep tears from forming.

"Macy... Will... Will's been killed..." Macy's expression changed from one of confusion to one of shock.

"Wha? How? When?"

Drew felt his mind release all the things and words he wanted to say. He told her everything, from the hunting trip to him and Will going back into Robeline, meeting Sarge, the gunfight, and, despite his best efforts to skirt around the gory details, he told of Will being captured, him being helpless to do anything, much less stop the raider boss who held him from exacting a final, horrible, retribution.

Macy remained standing as Drew finished. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, her face a mask of stoicism. He half expected her to fly into a rage, to demand they go and gut the bastard responsible for Will's death. One thing he didn't expect her to do was cry.

For all her life, and for as long as Drew had known her, Macy Coleson had never been the crying type. The only time he'd seen her shed a tear was when her mother had died. She was of the opinion that blood protected blood. Family protected family. And that no force on heaven, earth, nor demons of hell, would turn them against one another. Will had never been a religious type, neither had Emily, the younger sister. But Macy...

...she was downright biblical.

'Guns, Bullets, and the Wrath of Almighty God' that was her motto.

If the wrath of God didn't fall upon the bringer of evil, then she damn sure would and she would bring enough guns to break a horse's back and enough bullets to sink a barge. If THAT didn't work, well, it was best not to have a large, sharp, (or blunt) object lying around lest it find its way into Macy's hands and then relocate itself into the guilty party's heart.

Drew remembered the one time Emily had been hit by a drunken visitor to their town. Macy had gone into a frenzy and beat the man senseless with a folding chair, then jammed a broken wine bottle into his 'sensative' area before being dragged out of the bar kicking and screaming by Dobson and Will.

Not soon after that she'd left Robeline. Last he'd heard, she'd gotten a job as a book keeper for one of the caravan companies that came through Natchitoches on its way to Shreveport.

Macy stood in the door, her face still stoic as Drew held his breath. Then, she looked at him and frowned.

"So, Will was all set to leave Robeline to its fate but you just HAD to play the hero and go in, guns blazing, and wound up getting my little brother killed. Make no mistake, I would have beat him senseless if he'd fled the town and left it to burn but you... damn it Drew, you _KNEW_ better!"

Before Drew could brace himself, Macy's right hand reared back and slapped him so hard upon his face he actually spun in place. Only his quick foot work kept him from landing face-first on the ground. As he steadied himself, he saw Macy preparing for another slap and though to grab her hand but thought better of it. Instead, he took a step back and then steadied himself.

"Macy, listen, it wasn't MY fault, it was the Wolf Skull Marauders! THEY are the ones who sacked the town. Believe me, if I could, I would wind back the clock and INSIST that Will take the Solothurn instead of me. He said that his shoulder wasn't strong enough to handle the recoil of the beast and insisted that I be the one to use it." Macy went red-faced and took as step out of the house.

"So Will was _WEAK_ now, was it? Drew Durr, I still have my daddy's shotgun in here and if you don't get moving you'll see just why no man ever came around our home with impure intentions!"

"Macy, NO! That wasn't what I meant! Look at me." Macy pointedly turned away.

"Mace. Look. At. Me." Drew hoped his use of the nickname Will and he had given her would at least get her to do THAT.

It did.

Macy turned to Drew, eyes blazing. He knew she absolutely _HATED_ that nickname and was the only time Macy had ever been sharp or mean to Will was when he called her that.

"Macy, I can't go back in time, but neither am I going to let this lie down and be buried. I don't have any information yet about the Marauders or where their base is but the second I do, I'm going after that bastard and finish what I started that day in Robeline. Only this time the bastard won't get away with just a missing arm. Either I kill him in combat, I blow him up with a grenade, or I make sure he hangs when I capture him."

"One way or the other, he is going to pay for what he did to Will, to Marshall Dobson, the Mayor, the Doc and his wife, hell what he did to US. I will see him brought to either death's door or a jury."

Macy looked at him and then leaned to the door.

"Is this a private revenge scheme of your's or is anybody allowed in?" Drew realized he had intrigued her and nodded.

"I've aready got Sarge and Izzy with me, they're back at the Hotel Saint Denis."

"Hotel Saint Den-... have you joined the LSM?" Drew shook his head.

"No, but I feel they may have an idea as to where to find the Marauder's base."

"And who the hell is Izzy? Drew Durr, you haven't been running around have you?" Drew felt that same heat coming back into her eyes and he sighed.

"First off, Izzy is a dog I found while going through Coldwater. She's a wolf/shepard mix and has helped me out time and again. Plus, why the curiousity? I felt you made your position _QUITE_ clear when you left Robeline that last time."

Then, something amazing happened, almost as quickly as the anger had appeared, it vanished, and Macy stood there, somewhat pale but no longer angry.

"Things have changed Drew... Roy... heh, you were right about him. I should have seen him coming from a mile away but I didn't." Drew felt that old feeling welling up and eyed her.

"He didn't hit you did he?" Macy shook her head.

"No. He tried to. One day he came back drunk and tried to have his way with me. When I refused he tried to force himself on me. I fought back and put those lessons Daddy taught me to good use. You can still see the hole he made when I threw him through the wall." She pointed to a hole in the wall and Drew nodded.

"Flimsy pre-war building, nothing but sheetrock and plywood. Nice enough on the outside but once inside, ugh, it's an interior designer's worst nightmare come to fruition. Well after _that_ he got reassigned to Colfax and I haven't seen him since."

Macy went inside for a few moments and then the door opened and out she came, dressed in her travelling clothes, her patchwork leather armor (which looked better on her then Drew's did on him), and hefting her father's shotgun. Drew noticed her hip holster was empty and then thought about Greene's pistol.

He had the weapon stowed in his pack but now produced it and handed it to her.

"Greene was killed fighting the raider boss. I saved his weapon but I'll be damned if I know where to find ammo for it." Macy took the weapon and looked it over and sighed.

"Greene always did like large caliber weapons. I think he was a heavy weapons expert when he was in the LSM but I'm not sure. Still, no idea where he'd get .50 caliber pistol rounds but I think Emily might know." Drew looked at her with an incredulous expression.

"Emily? How in the world does Emily know where or how to find these kinds of rounds? She's not in the Black Market, is she?" For the first time, Macy laughed, but it was a hard-edged laugh that held no humor in it.

"No, goodness no. Do you honestly think someone raised in _OUR_ household would so willingly go into such an illegal buisness? No, Emily is a courier for the Bootleggers. She operates mainly out of Boyce or Chopin but every once in a while she makes a run up here to see me or to deliver some much needed goods. I was just speaking to her on the HAM radio and she just came through the Overpass. She'll be arriving at the station soon."

"Also, I hope you have plenty of ammunition because she said she was attacked near Flatwoods and lost two of her gunners. She's got to make a return trip and I'll be damned if I lose another sibling to those damned raiders." Drew went wide-eyed and looked at her like she was crazy.

"Wait, _WHAT_?" Macy smiled a false smile and made that look she always made whenever she wanted to Drew or Will to do something they really _DIDN'T_ want to do.

"You just volunteered to be a gunner for my sister's transport on her return trip. One of the stops is Flatwoods so I expect there'll be some action along the way. Here." Macy tossed him a bag with some caps in it and then winked to him.

"I've got plenty of rounds for MY weapon but you seem to be... running low. Go to the station dispersal office and get some more rounds for your weapons. Unlike the LSM, the dispersal office won't charge you an arm and a leg for a clip of bullets. Plus, between you and me, the bullets the LSM uses are dirty and of poor quality. Makes sense since their's are mass produced. The private sector with the Companies or freelance is the way to go."

Drew looked into the bag and saw it contained well over two-hundred caps. As soon as he fastened the bag to his belt, he followed Macy to the station and the dispersal office.

_*_*_*_*_*-8-8-8-8-8_*_*_*_*_*-8-8-***_*8-

A few minutes later, Drew was listing his ammunition types and preferences to the rotund man behind a grated window while awaiting Emily's transport to arrive. A few moments later, the man returned with a box containing fifty .38 Special rounds, three extended 10mm clips holding 25 rounds each, and three eight round clips of .30-06 ammunition.

After pocketing the rounds, Drew walked over to Macy who stood by the platform watching the clock anxiously. Drew noticed her silence and then decided to query her about how she and Emily had been doing. Macy ignored the question about her but Emily she spoke freely.

"Emily's been doing rather well. Did you know that people who first join the Bootleggers must first prove that they know how to work around technology? Nothing high-tech like prewar but more... ancient..." Drew looked to her curiously.

"Ancient?" Macy nodded.

"Yeah. Think combustion engine pre... Corvega-era. Most people don't know the story about them but they were survivors from the Alexandria Vault. The day the bombs fell, there was an auto showing showcasing vehicles from an era called the 'Roaring Twenties' as well as vehicles from the 1930's 40's and 50's. Newbies must learn to repair, hotwire, drive, and defend these vehicles they modify into transports to haul goods."

"If you prove you're a good courier, you get more responsibility, meaning bigger vehicles, more cargo, and a bigger cut of the profits and even the chance to start your own convoy branch." Drew was interested in this.

"So... what kind of vehicle does Emily drive?" Macy shrugged.

"Last I heard she was driving something called a 'microbus'. It's decently sized, but not as big as some of the other transports and lash-ups they use."

Drew opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted when a loud horn blew and drew his attention to the road where a vehicle was approaching, much to the curiousity of the crowd.

The vehicle was chugging along slowly, a side door was open and a man was hanging on to a ramp that he dropped as soon as the vehicle stopped. A crew of four men started unloading box after box of miscellaneous goods, ammo, food, water, medicine, weapons, all the basics of life. A moment later, the man stood aside and smiled as a woman exited the vehicle.

Drew remembered Emily Coleson. She was a young blonde girl with glasses, pigtails, a wrench in one hand and a hammer in the other.

This Emily was _completely_ DIFFERENT.

Gone were the glasses in favor of a helmet with goggles, her pigtails were gone and her hair was short and in a bun under the helmet. She wore long boots, leather pants, a leather jacket, and wore a pistol belt which held a modified broomhandle-style pistol with a folding stock, extended magazine, and extended barrel. She was comletely different from the young girl he knew from years ago.

Emily stripped off the gloves, pulled a pen from her pocket and made a mark before turning and removing the helmet and smiling at her sister. She went wide-eyed when she saw Drew and came over, clearly expecting something was wrong.

"Drew! Hey, glad to see you and Macy made up, you two were one HELL of a match. Anyway, what the heck are you doing here? Did Will do something again? C'mon, spill it."

Drew steadied himself and then explained to Emily what happened and Emily became silent.

"I knew something was wrong. I... I just couldn't place the feeling. That day... I felt something like a sharp pain in my chest. I just... I just never thought that... So why are you here instead of going after the bastards who did this?" Drew sighed.

"To find the raiders, I need information, to get information, I need caps. Lots of 'em. I figure I'll have to be freelance to earn the caps. I... I want to start my own mercenary group so that I can hunt down these raiders and eliminate them." Emily nodded and then looked to the transport before looking back.

"Well... if you don't mind the danger, I could use some help." At that moment, men brought out two bodies and lay them on the platform. Emily nodded to the bodies and sighed.

"I was ambushed near Flatwoods while on a delivery. Arnie and Bill gave their lives protecting me and our cargo. Because of their loss, I need two gunners. Judging by Macy having Old Reliable strapped to her back, I suppose she's in. So... what about you?" Drew gazed at Macy and then at Emily.

"When do we leave?" Emily looked to the men, blew a whistle, and the team started loading crates into the transport.

"We leave as soon as I get loaded up. Once we're loaded, we getting back on I49 and heading for Flatwoods, Chopin, and Boyce stations. Payment is one-hundred caps round trip. If you stick around, I'll try to get the boss to get me another trip to Natchitoches so that I can bring you home."


	10. Hell's Highway

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

(For the record, because of it's French heritage, some names in Louisiana are NOT said as they are spelled. For Example: Natchitoches is pronounced Nach-i-tah-sh. Chopin is pronounced Show-pan.)

Please let me know if you would like a pronounciation of any difficult to say names or places.

Chapter 9: Hell's Highway

_*_*_*_*_*-8-88-8-8-*_*_*_*_*_*-8-8-8-8_*_**

Date: April 19, 2285

Location: The Overpass

Time: 0925 hours (9:25 A.M.)

_*_*_**-8-*_*_8-8-8-*_*_*_*-8-8-8_*_*_*_*_*-

Drew felt the Transport slow to a stop as Emily readied her transit papers for the Overpass guards. One of the men came aboard and then inspected the cargo. The man looked over the cargo and then nodded.

"Alright Ms. Coleson, you are clear for transit. Just for the logs though, what are your destinations?" Emily answered promptly.

"First off, we're going to Flatwoods, then to Chopin, and finally to Boyce where I'll then be scheduling a return trip direct for Natchitoches." The guard nodded and then gazed at Drew and smiled.

"Oh, so YOU'RE one of the new gunners for Ms. Coleson, eh? Well, I'll say this ma'am, you can't do much better." Emily and Macy looked at the man confused and he elaborated.

"This fellow here, when we were attacked a few days ago, picked up one of our heavy machineguns and single-handedly charged the raiders, gun a-blazing. Took not only the raiders by surprise but our own men as well. Took 'em a good bit to get their wits about them and charge over the barricade to help him out." Drew could not notice Macy's astonished glance at him as the guard just smiled on.

"Oh, speakin' of which, your friends Red Eagle and Jaques? They went on a scouting mission in response to reports about raiders near Flatwoods. Just keep an eye out for 'em is all I'm saying."

Emily nodded and the guard waved an 'all-clear' signal to the man in the guardhouse who lifted the barricade and allowed the vehicle to start moving again.

When they were safely on I49, Drew somehow sensed that Macy was looking at him. He turned to see her sitting at her post in the rear gunner's seat with a rather frightening expression.

"So... our little Drew Drew is a HERO now, eh? A big ol' hero who single handedly saved the Overpass from a Raider attack, yet couldn't keep my little brother from getting his head lopped off."

Drew wanted to turn away but felt he couldn't and sighed.

"The fight at the Overpass didn't have to happen you know? Those raiders had said they were only there for ME. The people could have turned me over to them and then continued on their merry way as if nothing had happened. I know the raiders wouldn't have done it but still, the people could have just let them have me and then it would have been Sarge to tell you about Will's death AND mine."

Drew knew it was a rotten thing to say but at the moment he wanted some peace and quiet. All the way from the depot in Natchitoches to the Overpass guardhouse Macy had done nothing but jab at him and everything but outright curse him for Will's death.

Nevertheless, it had the desired effect. Macy's expression changed and she whipped around in her chair and gave her sole focus on the gun in front of her.

The layout of the Transport was rather simple yet effective. Emily, being the driver, sat in a heavily armored 'box' that surrounded her and protected her and which could only be opened from the inside. Next to her box was the engine hatch and the seat for the mechanic and Emily's second who helped her navigate, load and unload cargo, and generally kept the Transport running.

Drew sat in the exact center of the vehicle and, should the Transport be attacked, he would man the machinegun housed in an open turret on the roof.

Behind him was the red-painted locker for large cargo, across from him was the blue painted lockers for small cargo. Then at the rear was the machinegun which Macy manned and next to her was a green colored compartment that held ammo for both machineguns.

Out of boredom, Drew read the loading chart near him to discern the vehicle's capacity.

 _ **CLASS 3 TRANSPORT**_

CARGO CAPACITY: 18 UNITS

FUEL CAPACITY: 23 GALLONS

CARGO LEGEND (LARGE LOCKUP):

FOOD CRATE: 1 UNIT

WEAPON CRATE (SMALL): 1 UNIT

WEAPON CRATE (MEDIUM): 2 UNITS

WEAPON CRATE (LARGE): 3 UNITS

AMMO CRATE (SMALL): 1 UNIT

AMMO CRATE (MEDIUM): 2 UNITS

CARGO LEGEND (SMALL LOCKERS):

SMALL MEDICAL BOX: 1 UNIT

MEDIUM MEDICAL BOX: 2 UNITS

There was a small memorandum under the writing that 'reminded' drivers not to exceed 50 mph unless in case of an emergency. Drew vaguely wondered how often that particular rule was followed.

 _(Given the conditions on these roads these days, not very likely.)_

Either way, the vehicle chugged along at a steady pace and Drew was rather glad for the change of pace. He looked over to Emily's second, a young man by the name of Buford.

"Say Buford, how long have you worked with Emily?" Buford studied the gauges by him for a moment then replied.

"A while. She and I have been thick as thieves since we were gofers. We had the luck of serving in the same team and when we took the GOAT, she had all the skills of an expert driver and I had the makings of an expert mechanic and navigator. Since Emily and I worked well together, Ol' Roy thought it'd be best we work together. Like the old saying for the Bootleggers go: 'Gunners come and go but Navigators and Drivers stay eternal'."

"Did you know the two previous gunners?" Buford shook his head.

"Nope. Didn't care to either. They were both contractors from the Copperheads. Not to speak ill of the dead but those bastards couldn't hit the broad side of a barn." He motioned for Drew to come closer.

"Just between you and me? When we were attacked, those guys seemed a little TOO calm. They at first tried to pass it off as an accident, then when it became clear we were being attacked, they DID open fire but it was sloppy, inaccurate."

"It was only once that one of them fell dead with a hole in his head did the other one straighten up and fly right, but by then it was too late." Drew listened to him curiously.

"Wait a minute. Are you saying what I THINK you're saying?" Buford quickly clammed up and made a 'stop' motion before leaning in.

"All I'm saying is The Copperheads are known for their lax methods. Unlike the other companies that rigorously follow up with their contracts and their members, the Copperheads are divided by offices. Basically the two who failed in their duty to follow through with their contract are held responsible by a regional officer, a lieutenant, and that lieutenant is then accountable to the leader of the Company."

"So these two failed. They're dead. What becomes of the contract?"

"The Lieutenant who assigned the men must pay the company for the lost bounty and must also reimburse the families, if any, of the men killed. It's a 'system' of accountability. The men the Lieutenant hired screwed the pooch and so it is the Lieutenant who must pay the piper."

"It ensures the best men are assigned to the tasks that best compliment their skills. These men obviously were more green than the guy let on and thus were easier to kill than hardened veterans."

Drew nodded understandingly and then returned to his previous thoughts while Buford went back to work.

A moment later, Buford rose and banged on Emily's door. She opened the window and said something Drew couldn't hear. Buford held up a map.

"Emily, we are almost to Flatwoods. Should we prepare for defence?"

...

...

"Right." Buford turned to Drew and also got Macy's attention.

"Man your guns, we're nearing Flatwoods. We've got a surplus of ammo thanks to those previous nitwits who didn't shoot when we were attacked. Don't do us any favors by sparing your shots. You see something funny, you blow the hell out of it." Drew nodded and climbed up onto the turret platform and unlocked the turret.

Unlike the machinegun at the Overpass barricade, this one was permanently bolted to the frame of the turret and also had a much shorter barrel. The one thingDrew was thankful for was that the armoring on the turret completely surrounded him except for a small openng that allowed him to look down the barrel to the piece of welded iron that served as a forward sight.

He gazed around the turret but then halted when, directly behind him, he spotted the only remaining clue that a man had been killed up here. Grimacing, he turned and then chambered a round in the gun and readied himself for the first sign of trouble. Through the gunsight, Drew saw the vehicle turn off the I49 and then proceed down the road a little ways until it stopped at a small depot near a collection of homes. Below, he heard Emily open the window and speak to Buford.

"Okay, for Flatwoods, we offload one medium gun crate, one small gun crate, two medium ammo crates, and two small medical boxes of Stimpacks and Radaway. As soon as that's done, we take on two large gun crates and three food crates and then we're off for Chopin."

Drew panned the turret around and then looked atthe platform before looking past itto the buildings. He couldn't shake it but something felt...off.

"Buford...isn't there usually someone waiting to help you offload their cargo and load the new crates?" Buford gazed out the window below and hummed to himself.

"Yeah... funny thing is, they left the cargo right there on the platform... definately NOT standard operating procedure. Drew, cover me, I'm stepping out."

Drew nodded and fixed the turret on the distance where trees lined the town and fixed his sights on the treeline. Below him, he heard the door open and Buford step out and inspect the crates. Drew shifted his focus to a small building on the outside of the settlement. At that moment, the wind shifted and blew the plywood door to the building open revealing a body stuffed inside what Drew now could see was an outhouse. Drew leveled the gun and then yelled.

"Buford! Get in, NOW!" Buford had just pried the lid off of one of the weapon crates and then, upon noticing it was empty, heard Drew shout, and all but dove back into Transport and slammed the door behind him.

"It's a trap! Drive, Emily! _DRIVE_!"

At that moment, Drew heard several yells and man and women in orange jumpsuits came running out of the woods, firing guns haphazzardly at the vehicle. Leveling the sights, Drew opened fire and felt the gun recoil in his hands as it let loose.

He was rewarded when his initial burst made the attackers stop for a moment before picking up the attack again, this time though, they made use of whatever cover they could. A moment later, Emily fired up the engine and the Transport tore out of the depot and made a beeline for the onramp. Drew was firing wildly at the attackers as he heard Buford turn on a radio he had noticed earlier.

"Mayday! Mayday! This is Transport One-Six. Under attack by raiders in Flatwoods. Repeat: Flatwoods has fallen!" Drew suddenly heard another motor and turned back to Flatwoods to see several vehicles tear out from the town and try to catch up.

"Buford! They have vehicles and are pursuing us!"

Drew had never figured Buford for a swearing kind of guy but he had to admit, the man could be rather 'colorful' when he wanted to be.

"Transport One-Six here, one of our gunners just said they have vehicles. Requesting a patrol to assist and escort. Does anyone copy?"

The reply was drowned out by Macy firing her machinegun as if the world was on fire. Drew turned the turret to the rear and started firing as well at the fast closing vehicles.

Now Drew had never seen vehicles apart from the burnt out husks he saw along the old roads that no one had ever bothered to clear before. Emily's vehicle was simple in its purpose and design but at least it was pleasing to the eyes. The vehicles these raiders used though...

...Drew was sure they had 'frankensteined' them out of whatever scrap they could find. No two vehicles were alike and all of them was coated thickly in dust, rust, and things best left unmentioned.

Currently the Transport was being assailed by a nasty piece of work. A skeleton frame with three wheels, a driver sitting back almost uncomfortably close to the engine, and two others hefting shotguns was closing and peppering the back with what sounded like double-ought buckshot. He eased the turret around, aimed at the machine and opened fire.

His rounds raked the front of the machine and then peppered the driver and the engine. Apparently these machines were designed worse than Drew thought because a moment later the engine exploded sending the machine into cartwheels which then landed on another machine. Drew smiled and yelled down.

"Got one!" Drew heard Macy's curt reply as she reloaded.

"Whaddya want a medal? A kiss? Get your head back in it and _DON'T GET COCKY_!"

"Yes, _ma'am_." Drew coughed and then returned to firing at the groups coming at them.

"Buford! Any idea who's attacking us? I mean, what raider group?"

"What are they wearing?"

"Orange jumpsuits, like Vault suits only these have DOC in faded lettering on them! Mean anything?"

"Yeah. Group of raiders called the 'Chain Yankers'. Descendants of prisoner chain gangs that were out here cleaning up the roads when the bombs fell. Word was they'd been wiped out a while back but for some reason everyone always had their doubts." Drew sensed a bit of worry in Buford's voice and then pushed further.

"Who supposedly ended them?" There was a delay in answering.

"The Copperheads." Drew fired at another runner and then frowned.

 _(Copperheads again..._ _ **why**_ _am I seeing a pattern here?)_

At that moment, the vehicle lurched as Emily made a nearly ninety degree to get onto the onramp and then felt himself momentarily weightless as it then went airborne as it hit the interstate.

It took a moment for Drew to regain his bearings and when he did he was immediately aware that Macy's gun had stopped firing. He swung down, worried.

"Macy! You okay?" Drew went down the path between the lockers and the lockup and saw Macy struggling with the machinegun and growling lowly.

"Drew, not really the best time! This. Damn. Gun. Is. _**REALLY**_. Pissing. Me. _**Off**_. _Gah_!" She whipped around to Drew, eyes burning fiercely.

"Swap guns with you. I'll take the turret, you can get _THIS_ particular piece of crap."

It was not so much a request as an order and by the time Drew had the presense of mind to object, Macy was on the turret and he was left in the back with a jammed gun.

 _(Damn Macy jammed it good. Looks like not only a double feed but also a stovepipe. Heh, one of the reasons Will and I called her Mace. She is built to destroy.)_

Drew went about unjamming the gun while Macy kept firing from the turret. Finally, he managed to get the belt feed working properly and pulled the charging handle again and lined the gun up with the nearest raider.

 _'THUD!'_

Drew looked up from the gun gazing around the vehicle as he wondered what in the world that sound was.

 _'THUD!'_

Drew gazed around again before he heard Buford come up from behind him. He was holding a shotgun and was grim. Drew then put two and two together and grimaced.

"They're on the roof?" Buford nodded.

"Yep. Stay on your gun, I'll handle this."

Macy's gun kept firing but it was in shorter bursts and every once in a while she would yell something at the raiders who were trying to pry open the turret. At that moment though, Drew saw a flash of orange and suddenly saw a green and blue painted face smiling in his viewport.

"Hello."

Drew pulled his revolver and fired one round through the viewport, clearing the 'obstruction'. Still, he couldn't help himself.

"Goodbye."

At that moment, a runner came into view behind him and he pulled the trigger on the machinegun.

There is an old military word that describes things that break, fail, or go awry: FUBAR.

The machinegun all but exploded in Drew's hands as the round misfired and everything seemed to go wrong at once. The barrel came loose from the housing and shot forward, impaling the tin 'armor' covering the cab and likely surprising the raider driving the runner, the feed cover blew off the weapon nearly breaking Drew's jaw, and the bolts came loose from the frame dropping the eleven pound machinegun onto his feet, making him wince and bite back a curse.

"Buford! I think we got a problem!" Buford looked at the machinegun and Drew swore he saw his jaw drop in disbelief.

"Oh _shit_." Thinking quickly, Buford reached to his belt and pulled a set of keys from them.

"Open the locker and get one of the weapons we're hauling! They're decently sized crates so I suspect they are heavy weapons!"

Buford tossed the keyes to Drew who opened the door to the lockup and tore the lid off the first crate he came to. Inside was a _MASSIVE_ machinegun stamped with the word 'Orkelion'.

Though it was larger than the machinegun he'd used on the Overpass, Drew managed to heft the weapon back to his post and lock it in place. He then saw Buford opening an ammo crate and handing the large drum magazines within it to him. Buford eyed the machinegun and smiled.

"This is an Orkelion 25mm heavy machinegun. It was supposed to be delivered to a boat from the Red River Guard but the boat was destroyed near Colfax a few days ago and since then the gun has been moved along I49 until it reaches Alexandria. Word has it the gun was salvaged from a ship in Morgan City. Don't rightly know what that little doo-hicky on the top is but as long as it doesn't interfere with the sights, I'm content to just leave it on there. Well? What are ya waiting for an engraved invitation? Charge the weapon and give these bastards the whole nine yards!"

Needing no further encouragement, Drew gripped the dual handle and pressed the button trigger and felt the recoil of the weapon start shaking his arms, no surprise since each round when unfired was as long as his hand from wrist to the end of his middle finger, and the magazine for this weapon held nearly three-hundred of these rounds. More surprisingly was the difference in damage.

A .30 caliber round from the machinegun would punch a hole through the thinly armored raider vehicles. A 25mm round would all but turn the vehicle inside out.

The first burst struck the engine of one of the larger runners, causing it to splutter, rattle, and finally it went to pieces. The second burst struck a smaller one on the axle, splitting the axle in half and sending the vehicle skidding into another which then exploded in a bright flash. Midway through the third burst, a loud crash got Drew's attention and he gasped as he saw a large, eight-wheeled vehicle bearing down on them.

"Emily? If you're not going full-speed yet, I _HIGHLY_ suggest you put the pedal to the metal!" Buford came back and looked through his window and mouthed something before running back up to the driver's box. Moments later, Drew heard the engine rev up and noticed the raider super-vehicle fall further behind.

For a moment, Drew thought they'd outrun it when from the pipes protruding from either side belched thick black smoke and began gaining again. This, however, didn't frighten him as much as what he saw coming out of a hatch on the front.

A raider... holding a weapon he'd only seen once before...

...a Fat Man Nuke Launcher.

Drew ignored all other targets around him and focused exclusively on the raider holding the launcher. The rounds pinged and panged around the raider and he was also assisted when Macy also focused on the raider vehicle closing slowly within the terminal range of the launcher.

Finally, as the raider was preparing to fire, Drew aimed down the sights and eased onto the trigger but then pushed something else. The raider was highlighted in a green outline and a small percentage was displayed by the right. He eased his crosshairs over the raider and watched the number climb to 89%. Then, almost instinctively, he fired the weapon.

The round left the weapon and flew straight at the raider before striking him center recoil makes the raider jerk back but also with his last breath fire the launcher.

Straight into the air...

...

...

...

...and right back onto the raider vehicle.

Drew only had a brief moment to look away and thought he heard Macy yell something along the same lines as the Mininuke detonated. There was a bright flash and a thundering 'BOOM!' and the Transport shuddered with the force of the explosion. After a moment, Drew risked looking back and was greeted with a sight right out of a nightmare.

The raider vehicles caught in the blast were blown all across the road. The mega-runner was nothing more than a flaming pile of debris that now blocked the majority of the road.

Seeing no more foes, Drew sighed and relaxed his grip on the gun and turned to Buford.

"Enemy vehicles destroyed. They nuked themselves." Buford nodded but was still uneasy.

"I've been with Emily and the Bootleggers for years and I've NEVER seen raiders this well equipped and armed. Plus, of all things, a FAT MAN. Those kinds of weapons you only find in LSM armories or old military installations." Drew thought of something and then switched on his Pipboy. The last few notes of a song faded as the DJ came on.

'Hey hey, Louisiana! It's me, your old friend Danny Boy Rhodes, and I'm here to give you the skinny on what's shaking in the south today.

First up: The Copperhead Mercenary Company has reported that they have caught up with the raiders responsible for the break-in at the Old River Road Armory and have dealt with them. Unfortunately most of the weapons had already been sold to groups affiliated with the raiders and thus a travel advisory has been issued by the Baton Rouge Committee.

Another report issued here, a vehicle transport hauling vehicles bound for the Boneyard has been hijacked by unknown people and has vanished. Anyone travelling along I49 south of Natchitoches and north of the Alexandria is to keep an eye out for any sign of these missing vehicles.

Okay, breaking from the doom and gloom here, we have a bit of good news. An attack on the Overpass by raiders has been thwarted by a force of LSM soldiers, mercenaries, and townsfolk. Witnesses say that during the fight, a man lifted one of the machineguns and, wielding it like a assault rifle, led the charge against the raiders who soon broke ranks and retreated.

Rumors are that this man who showed such courage was none other than Drew Durr, the Lone Survivor of Robeline. If that is the case then Drew my friend, I and all of us here in Natchitoches, salute you for your bravery and all your efforts.

Alright, that's enough out of me for a while, now then, enjoy these wonderful songs we've got coming your way. First up, we have 'Tennessee' Ernie Ford as he loads 'Sixteen Tons'.'

Drew eased back into his seat as the song came on and found himself singing along with it after a while. When he came to the last verse, he heard someone snapping and glanced over to see Macy smiling and snapping her fingers. Drew, emboldened, picked up his voice for the last verse.

 _'I-f you see me comin' ya better, step aside._

 _Alotta men didn't, alotta men died._

 _One fist of iron, the other of steel;_

 _If the right one don't get ya, then the left one will._

 _You load sixteen tons, whaddya get?_

 _Another day older and deeper in debt,_

 _Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go._

 _I owe my soul to the company store.'_

As he finished, the Transport was filled with not only Macy's laughter but also Emily's. Buford and Drew joined in and after a moment when Buford calmed down, he looked over to Drew.

"Whew, I don't think I _EVER_ heard Emily laugh like that. Then again, we never had a radio in here. What's so special about that song?" Drew smiled and then looked to Macy who was chatting with Emily.

"Their father used to work at a mill near Robeline. He would take old, salvaged metal materials, melt them down, and then turn them out as brand new. Most of the tin and iron in Robeline was handled by him and was fitted to the town. It's fair to say that thanks to their dad, Robeline was able to settle and be revived. Shelter is no small thing. A roof, even a tin roof that is noisy as all heck in a rain storm, is a welcome relief and is heaven compared to sleeping out in the open." Buford nodded understandingly.

"I lived in a home like that. My parents had a home outside Alexandria that had been deroofed during the war. Can't tell you how many times I had to climb on the rickety plywood roof with my pa to patch a hole or fix a leak. I'd have given anything back then for a few pieces of tin to build a more permanent roof."

Drew nodded and then looked over the machinegun and then to the little machine that was fixed to the top of it.

"Buford, Macy, what do y'all make of this?"

On the casing of the machine was a single word:

'V.A.T.S.'

Macy looked it over and nodded.

"I've seen these before. These little computers are known as V.A.T.S or 'Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting Systems'. These little things are mainly used on heavy weapons and power armor suits but I hear that the Rattlers and the French Guard sometimes fit them onto their weapons. They calculate range, trajectory, wind speed, and even how effective a shot will be based on enemy armor and weapon caliber. Supposedly they're supposed to make even the most inept soldier into a one-man army. Looks like this one was being used by the RRG to assist in their support operations." This got Drew's attention as he turned to her.

"Support operations?" Macy nodded but before she could speak, Buford took control of the conversation.

"The RRG has been tryin' their damndest to secure the Red River as a plausible route for moving goods and troops from one end of the state to the next. Yet time and again they are attacked by raiders along the banks who almost seem to know they are coming. That's why they're paying out hundreds maybe THOUSANDS of caps for high-quality pre-war weapons and ammo. I heard this big bastard here, the Orkelion, was bought for almost 8,000 caps. Rumors are that they're almost ready to go under and give up on their namesake. If that happens, well, Louisiana will be a helluva lot harder to traverse the state overland."

Drew nodded understandingly. He'd seen a map of New Louisiana before and knew that if the Red River was lost, the state, government, and military would be split in half.

A moment later, Buford opened up a box containing some food and passed it to Macy and Drew. Drew and Macy both picked out a brahmin steak and sat there silently eating as Buford picked out his choice of lunch.

"We'll be nearing Chopin soon. I shudder to think what those raiders did to the outside of the Transport but hopefully we'll be able to continue our run without any further problems. I suppose you two can cool your heels and take a rest, seeing as your jobs are over. Rest assured though, we ever start another trip that seems a bit odd, we'll give you a call."

Drew nodded and, despite himself, found himself easing into a chair and falling asleep from exhaustion.


	11. A Few Good Men

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 10: A Few Good Men (Or The Next Best Thing)

_*_*_*_*_*_8-8-8-8-8_*_*_*_*-88-88

Date: April 20, 2285

Location: Natchitoches, Louisiana

Time: 1127 (11:27 A.M.)

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*8-8-88-8-8_*_*_*_*-8-8-8_*_*_*

Drew sat in the room just outside the office of the commanding officer for the LSM in the Natchitoches area. Even through the thick wooden door, Drew could hear the heads and asses being handed out to the soldiers who had been supposed to be on a ' _protection_ ' detail that, apparently, he had (or rather was not _SUPPOSED_ to have had) seen neither hide nor hair of since first arriving in Natchitoches.

Once Emily's transport had made it safely to Boyce that previous afternoon, Emily immediately paid for a transit ticket explaining that goods, guns, and liquor weren't the only things the Bootleggers transported along the Interstate. He was led to what once must have been a city transit bus for the city of Alexandria, rebuilt and redesigned to accept the 160 proof fuel that all Bootlegger vehicles ran off of, and was soon on the fast track back to Natchitoches.

Macy had stayed behind to help Emily with the repairs to her transport which, oddly enough, Emily agreed to much to the evident displeasure of Buford who muttered something about being 'built to destroy' and got a massive 14 gauge socket wrench thrown at him and a free lesson on how to sing soprano.

While Buford went to the 'standby room' to search for something cold to numb the pain, Emily took Drew aside and explained her reasoning.

 _'Macy may be the **worst** mechanic in the history of all mankind but she **IS** my sister and Will was our brother. She needs something to do otherwise it'll be just like Mom's death all over again. Besides, I'm a good enough mechanic myself to be able to fix anything she breaks and what I can't fix, I've got enough caps saved up that I can replace them, no problem.'_

Plus Emily had told him that it might be a good idea to leave Macy alone while she mourns. It was plain as day that she blamed HIM for Will's death and, as the old saying goes, 'wouldn't give him a glass of water if he was burning'. Hopefully, with a little time... okay, a _LOT_ of time, Macy may come around holding civilized conversations with him again. Though, he honestly doubted that they would ever have any kind of relationship from before.

Well, unless Hell froze over...

He was disrupted from his musings by the door flying open and a gruff voice bellowing like a rutting brahmin.

"Drew Durr! Get your ass in here _NOW_! I've said my piece to these dumbasses but they were only in the frying pan, you mister are in the fire!"

 _(Talk about burning...)_

Drew rose and walked into the office and there, behind an old desk, sat a man in a dress uniform of unbroken grey. On his shoulders were two stars denoting his rank as Lieutenant-General. On the right breast of the coat the name 'Weathers' was sewn in and on the left side were numerous ribbons and accommodations.

General Weathers had a reputation for being a calm and understanding man. To see him angry like this was something out of a nightmare. The common saying was that _'When Weathers gets mad, not even a Hell Jumper would dare stand before him'_. And the way this man was glaring now Drew was sure that not even one of the famous (or rather _infamous_ ) Corps would oppose him.

Though not a soldier, Drew nevertheless felt the compulsion to stand at attention, heels together, legs straight (though not enough to cut of blood circulation), hands to his sides, and his eyes focusing on the raging tempest that swirled in the General's eyes. After a moment of staring at each other, Weathers grunted.

"Well? Have you anything to say about your little _'escapade'_ along I49? Any sort of excuse as to why you would up and leave when you knew damn good and well that I would be calling on you to give a debriefing of the events that have transpired? Now because you were a no-show, the chances that the LSM can mobilize to retake Robeline and you can bury your dead just went from slim to none." Before Drew could speak, the General raised a hand, evidently not quite finished with his ranting.

"Quite frankly, there is a _FAR_ better chance of Hell freezing over, Elvis coming back to Earth in a UFO, and a far, _FAR_ better chance that Michaels over there might _ACTUALLY_ get laid this afternoon rather than Robeline being saved. You had _ONE_ chance to explain to some of the most important people in the LSM why we should get off our asses and _DO_ something and you fucked it up five ways from Sunday! Now then, would you care to explain why you made us here in Natchitoches look like fools in front of our superiors?" Drew sighed, he knew that saying he was dragged along by his half-crazy ex and her sister would _NOT_ be the best idea.

"General, I offer no excuses. Only my deepest and most profound apologies to you and to the men you asked to keep an eye on me. I just felt it was my duty to inform Miss Macy Coleson and Miss Emily Coleson of their brother's death and... well... one thing led to another and everything went to hell in a handbasket from there. One moment I was speaking to Macy, the next I'm using a machinegun built for a warship to blow holes in raiders that were SUPPOSED to be no more." General Weathers looked at him, a glint of curiousity in his eyes.

"What do you mean 'Raiders that should not be'?"

"While arriving in Flatwoods, we were attacked by raiders wearing faded orange jumpsuits. When I inquired to Emily's assistant, Buford, he said they were a group of raider that were _SUPPOSED_ to have been wiped out by the Copperhead Mercenaries some time ago. Now, I'm not saying anything against one of the six Companies but either they didn't kill all of them as they believed and the raiders reformed or they deliberately let some of them live to fulfill some purpose."

"Like what? Cause enough terror that the people will call them again and have them do... the... exact... same... thing... as before... Damn. I was afraid of this." This time it was Drew who was curious.

"General?" General Weathers turned and looked to his men.

"All of you, dismissed. Stay by the door to ensure we are not overheard. Now then, Drew, what I'm about to tell you is _extremely_ confidential. No one, not even that porcine imitation of a mayor, knows of this. Remember the bridge collapse a few days ago? Well, there was a man who claimed to have seen men hefting Copperhead Merc equipment and they appeared to be chipping away at the aging concrete on the supports." Drew became serious, he remembered hearing that many people died on that bridge and that, due to the Copperhead Mercs delayed response, some who had survived were either eaten by the predators in the water, drowned, or were crushed as the debris settled.

"Where is this witness?" Weathers shook his head.

"I don't know. Not a day after he told me what he had seen, he vanished without a trace. I sent one of my best men after him but now HE's gone too. In all honesty, I had you brought here because I need someone I feel I can trust with this and that someone is _YOU_. You came here to start work as a freelance mercenary, right? At least until you destroy the mercs responsible for Robeline?" Drew nodded slowly.

"Well then, Drew Durr, consider this your first mission for me. Find my missing soldier and, if possible, the informant as well. If the Copperheads are really as corrupt as people have been whispering about all this time then they already have a stranglehold on the northern part of the 49. This might be enough to bring them before the State and get them either barred from military contracts, or disbanded altogether. The pay will be five-hundred caps for my soldier plus an extra two-fifty for the informant. Will you do this?"

Drew really didn't have to think twice. Sarge had told him when he came back that in his absence, he had put Drew's name up as a freelancer but so far had drawn nothing but blanks. Here was a job that, normally, would go to one of the six Companies but instead it was being handed to him, on a silver platter, by the regional commander of all LSM forces no less.

He nodded, much to Weathers' evident relief.

"Thank you. Now then, be warned, I have reason to believe the soldier and possibly the informant are being held outside the Natchitoches region, as such, I am unable to provide you with any support as doing so will raise a red flag to the Copperheads. I am aware however, that as a freelancer you could, theoretically say, recruit your own team. Do I have your interest?"

Drew nodded. The General was getting to something. Weathers reached into his desk and pulled a group of folders out and lay them on the desk.

"I have here a group of... individuals... who, despite no longer being affiliated with the LSM, still wish to serve their nation. Now, that goes without saying that these people are ex-militia for various reasons: dishonorable discharges, disorderly conduct, things of that nature. Still, they would rather be out and about than languishing in the brig. Naturally only the ones we trust will not betray us or their employer are given a dossier and are listed here. The rules state that I'm only to allow those with _'APPROVED'_ status but to be honest, as long as they don't have _'DENIED'_ on their file I can offer them to any freelancer who asks for help."

Weathers looked through the dossiers himself and then produced two and then walked over to Drew.

"Now this is only my recommendation but I believe that _these_ two gentlemen would be the best candidates for this... particular type of job. I also urge you to bring your dog with you as she may prove valuable in the field."

Drew took the folders and glanced over them.

"Roy Jenkins, 21, Caucasian, Corporal, LSM 3rd Medical Corps, D Company, 2nd Platoon. Goes by the nickname 'Jigger'. Skilled in small arms and medical equipment, triage, and treatment. Arrested for assaulting two MPs and flashing the Historic District. Application for freelance work: ACCEPTED." Drew looked to General Weathers.

"Assault and Streaking?" Weather nodded.

"Indeed. To his own credit though, we have confirmed he HAD been, without his knowledge, doped up with Jet so we dropped the Assault charges. As for the streaking... well... all who witnessed the act claim to have not seen 'anything truly impressive or substantial'. Nevertheless, one of the MPs he attacked is the daughter of a state councilman and he demanded the boy's head. Not that I blame him but, to be fair, his daughter did more damage to him than he did to her." Drew nodded and then looked at the second dossier.

"Richard Collins, 35, African-American, Staff Sergeant, LSM Intelligence Corps (L2), Natchitoches Branch. Nickname is 'Tumbler'. Skilled in small arms, shotguns, and carbine rifles. Former Intelligence Corps team leader. Skilled in all manner of hacking, lockpicking, infiltration and exfiltration. Arrested for being Drunk and Disorderly. Being held on suspicion of hacking, and using, LSM terminals to access and distribute classified information to third party 'investors'. Application for freelance work: PENDING INVESTIGATION." Weathers sighed.

"Tumbler was my best intelligence source. The intel he provided was always accurate, always to scale, and he saved a good many lives. Now, I personally don't believe that about the hacking but apparently someone did and had him removed from his post. He was demoted to Staff Sergeant and all his intel declared 'false'. Because of intel that was legit being trashed, we lost three squads of good men and women, we also couldn't stop the Armory break-in, and plus... well, let's just say a lot of people relied on him for his intel and with him gone things have gone straight to hell. Worse is that my hands are tied. As a recipient of intel he found I am forced to recuse myself from his defense." Drew nodded.

"Sounds like someone wanted either a scapegoat for something or wanted him out of the way. What about the D and D?"

"Being relieved made him turn to drink. A few days ago, while drunk, he french-kissed a member of the militia... and her horse." Drew fought to keep from laughing.

"He kissed a horse?" Weathers smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, normally that would warrant a few days of embarrassment but the same guy who had him relieved used it as an excuse to make him look more unreliable and throw whatever appeals he was working on in the trash. That's why you see 'PENDING' on his dossier. Personally, I know the little shit causing this good man such misery and I want to see the look on his face when he learns that someone has hired Tumbler for a 'special mission'. Once he slips up, I'll castrate the sonofabitch and request Tumbler be reinstated. Until then, he's your responsibility."

Weathers stepped back around his desk and sighed as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He then reached into his desk and produced a silver badge, two small 'pig iron' bars, and a folder, scribbled something in it, and then handed it to Drew.

"This badge officially marks you as a freelance mercenary under contract for the LSM. You are now able to accept bounties from our offices as well as contracts, you are also given an official rank in the LSM which is in that folder and also hence the bars. Plus, you will be able to trade goods, sell salvage, and purchase militia-marked weapons, armor, and other goods without repercussions from our Quartermaster and Supply Offices. Find these men Mr. Durr. Bring them home safely." The General motioned to a stack of papers on his desk.

"I've been writing nothing but condolence letters all day. I'd hate like hell to have to add any more to the pile. Try to bring them back alive but don't get yourselves killed in the process. Dismissed."

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Later that day, Drew and Izzy stood before a large building just outside of the city. Before the war, the building had been a school. Now, it was a makeshift prison for insubordinate soldiers, mercenaries, and other small-time criminals. At the door, he was stopped by a soldier of the LSM who held his hand out. Almost out of reflex, Drew pulled the badge and letter that General Weathers had given him and handed them over.

After skimming through the letter and examining the badge, the soldier nodded and then punched a series of numbers into the keypad and opened the door with a loud buzz. Once inside, Drew was greeted by a man in a clean and crisp officer's uniform, the rank of Major polished to a bright, almost annoying shine. The man smiled and extended his hand, which Drew shook.

"Welcome to the Institute Mr. Durr. Or should I call you Lieutenant Durr, seeing as you bear not only a letter of marque for freelance work but also a badge and emblem of rank. In case you didn't know, freelance mercenaries who have proven themselves often receive a recognized rank from the LSM as well as a letter of commission from the government in Baton Rouge. Most start off at Corporal or perhaps Sergeant but you...you have been commissioned as a Second Lieutenant. I guess your work for the LSM has been more substantial than rumors would suggest. Now then, do you have the dossiers and the necessary papers?" Drew nodded and fished them out of his satchel and held them for the officer to inspect.

"Hmm... yes... interesting choices... Well, Jenkins I have no problem with, in fact you take him with you and if you keep him out of my hair you'll _officially_ be my new best friend. Collins on the other hand... well... he's being held on specific orders from another officer, Second Lieutenant Nash. Either way he has seniority over you so your release order doesn't change a thing." Drew caught the Major's meaning and then nodded.

"Well Major, let me ask you, do you believe in making an innocent man suffer unnecessarily? If this letter doesn't release him, what would it take for him to... uh... 'make bail'?" The Major coughed and looked aside.

"Well that would depend upon the seriousness of his crimes, his rank, and the rank of the person ordering him here... the bail would be set at roughly nine-hundred caps." Drew almost flinched but managed to hold back his outrage at such outrageous fees.

"Seems a lot of caps for a simple D and D charge. Tell me, how much pull does this Lieutenant Nash have? Honestly?" The Major sighed.

"Not as much as he thinks, but more than I'd want to deal with personally. Look, I know the charges are most likely trumped up but my hands are tied. I'm a glorified desk clerk posing as a warden, this Nash fellow is an officer of the L2 branch. They say he specializes in making things... 'disappear'. If the guy he says keep locked up is going to get out I at least need enough caps to buy some protection for MYSELF. Eight-hundred." Drew thought for a moment and then had an idea.

"What if, say, I bail Collins out and he... ' _escapes_ ' from my custody or...' _dies_ ' while on the mission?" The Warden looked at Drew and nodded.

"That would work. As a freelancer you'd likely get fined for letting a fugitive escape... on the other hand if he were 'killed' for the sake of saying it, he would likely be honorably reinstated, a small speech saying he 'died a hero' blah, blah, blah, his records sealed and life goes on and hopefully Nash will get that stick out of his ass but then again as the old saying goes 'wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up faster'. Plus... Collins can _NEVER_ , under any circumstances, be seen by _ME_ , my men, or Nash, or anyone else associated with L2, otherwise, you will have a warrant put on _YOU_ for harboring an escaped fugitive." Drew nodded understandingly.

"So, about that bail..." The Warden nodded.

"Right, cost goes, like I said, according to their rank and their crimes... both are minor, and somewhat humiliating, violations... Jenkins... Corporal... and Collins... Staff Sergeant... Okay, the bail charge for Jenkins is sixty caps and Collins is one-twenty. One hundred and eighty caps altogether. Plus, there is a one hundred cap fee for releasing their confiscated equipment as well as the issuing of their new uniforms... Don't look at me like that, it's the radroaches. I swear the damn things eat anything they can drag off... plus we've also had a problem with... uh... lice and other parasites." Drew nodded and examined the folder and couldn't help but smile when, next to Jenkins' name the Major had marked 'HYPN'.

'He's Your Problem Now.'

Drew then asked the warden for directions to the cells. Drew was pointed in the direction of a broad muscular man with a Sergeant Major's insignia and followed him down the hallway.

After passing a few doors, the guard opened the door and gave a sharp whistle.

"Jenkins! Collins! Shape up and get outta there. Come say hello to the man who pulled your asses out of the fire. I swear, I used to be in charge of shaping recruits into battle-hardened machines of war! Breaking them down and building them back up! Now look at me...watching over guys who get drunk on duty and kiss anything that even LOOKS attractive and weaklings who get beaten up by women young enough to still be cradled in her mother's arms!"

A reply was not long in coming.

"Go blow it up your ass Boufer!" The guard frowned.

"That's _SERGEANT MAJOR_ Boufer to _YOU_ Jenkins! The moment those papers were signed, you became an enlisted man again. You may not wear an LSM uniform but by God I WILL be addressed properly or I'll knock you so damn flat they won't be able to tell the difference between you and the floor!"

As Boufer stepped aside, two men came out. The first was the youngest, Jenkins. He stood as tall as Drew, had a shock of red hair, and also gazed about with a 'devil may care' attitude. The second and older man seemed more reserved although somewhat depressed.

"Jenkins, now you don't want to make a poor impression upon our...' _EMPLOYER_ ' now would you?" Drew internally winced at the way he said employer as if it were demeaning and degrading to say such. Boufer turned and handed Drew back his papers.

"Lieutenant Drew Durr, this is Corporal Roy Jenkins and Staff Sergeant Richard Clark. Now then, for the record, I'm supposed to be informed as to the nature of your assignment and why you bailed these two out." Drew nodded and produced another folder.

"Gentlemen, as of yesterday, one of out own has been missing for three days. Three days ago, Master Sergeant Edward Reed, known best as 'Chief' went missing while searching for one Nicholas Fleurs, a witness of a crime that, at the moment, I am not at liberty to explain. These orders come from the top, from General Weathers: Find and rescue these two men at all cost. If they cannot be found, then proof of their deaths will be needed. According to last time he checked in with the General, Chief was making his way to the small town of Goldonna. That, is where the General has suggested we start looking."

Drew noticed that at his mention of Chief, both men and even Boufer came alert and tense as coiled springs.

"Since it appears you men know more about Chief than I do, please enlighten me." Clark nodded while Jenkins clamped his mouth shut.

"Chief is somewhat of a legend in the LSM. Rumor was that he was a vertibird pilot in his younger days for the Brotherhood of Steel but was marked an outcast because of his constant bickering with his seniors, plus he ' _accidentally_ ' crashed some high ranking Paladin's vertibird into a swamp. After a while he became a drifter, started fixing up old rebuilt vertibirds for the LSM that we had salvaged and later became the Chief mechanic of the whole LSM Vertibird Maintenance Corps. I honestly didn't know he would still take grunt work missions although as often as I've spoken with him I can't say I'm surprised." Drew nodded and then turned to Boufer.

"Sergeant Major, would you please lead me to the confiscated goods room so that they can reclaim their equipment?" Boufer nodded.

"If you'll follow me sir. It's just down the hall here in what, I would assume' used to be the ROTC Supply Office for the school."

Drew, Clark, and Jenkins followed Boufer down the hall until they reached an iron reinforced door and, with the proper passcode, Boufer opened it and revealed a rather large room with a long desk, several uniforms folded neatly on shelves, and a large metal safe door which Boufer also opened.

"According to the papers here... Okay, Corporal Jenkins. Personal effects include: one .45 caliber handgun with four extra mags, one .30 caliber carbine with three extra mags, one complete sterile field surgeon's kit, twenty Stimpacks, fifteen doses of Radaway, and ten doses each of Med-X and Rad-X. While I get your weapons, please walk to the Quartermaster there and draw your uniform."

Jenkins nodded, apparently satisfied that he was finally getting out of here, and did as he was told. Drew noted that, despite his 'devil may care' attitude, he didn't seem to be a troublemaker of a bad sort. Next, Boufer came out and set Jenkins' equipment aside and then picked up the next list.

"Staff Sergeant Clark, one silenced 10mm autopistol, one 12 gauge pump-action shotgun, one screwdriver, a set of bobbypins, a Pipboy 3000, and a flare gun with six flares. Please draw your uniform." Drew listened to each item and then looked at Clark as he was grabbing a LSM coat from the rack.

"What's the flare gun for Staff Sergeant?" Clark nodded understandingly and explained while looking through the uniform.

"In L2, we use flares and smoke grenades to send up signals if our Pipboys are damaged. I have two of each flare type: red means 'distress' or 'emergency', blue mean 'extraction' or 'medivac', green means 'supply drop' or identifies an area as a 'safe zone'. Plus, flares are useful for facing down Deathclaws, Ghouls, and other abominations. Can't seem to explain it, but the light and heat from flares, especially red ones, seems to scare the living daylights out of them. I've seen a full grown Deathclaw Alpha Queen screech to a halt at the sight of a flare being fired, whip around and run away like her tail was on fire. I've also seen a pack of nightstalkers stop so quickly they all flipped ass over teakettle, and run in the complete _OPPOSITE_ direction of a flare shot."

Clark stopped for a moment as he laced up his boots and pulled his body armor over his uniform.

"You never know what'll come at you out there in the wastes. That's why I _ALWAYS_ carry a flare gun and make sure my flares are dry and ready to be used at a moments notice. I'm old enough to have seen a few too many missions go to hell and a few ops go pear-shaped because there was a nest of Deathclaws where there shouldn't have been or raiders and ghouls popping out of the woodworks like termites. I always say: Expect Everything, Prepare for Anything." Drew nodded.

"I'm of the same mind Staff Sergeant."

"Clark."

"Excuse me?"

"Just call me Clark sir. I... eh... overheard what you and the Warden were talking about. That means for me that my career in the LSM is over. I'm no longer a Staff Sergeant so don't address me like one. Same for Jenkins, on paper we're LSM but in reality, we're civvies. You're the only one with rank here Lieutenant." Jenkins chuckled at that and looked up from where he was going over his kit.

"You require of the services of a few good men LT, instead, you get the next best thing, a medic who got his ass kicked by a woman, and a washed up intelligence officer who is more at home either hacking a terminal or picking a lock than aiming down a gun." Drew gazed at the two soldiers and shook his head.

"No, there's a reason General Weathers recommended you two to me. I trust his judgement when it comes to his own soldiers and if he says that you two are the best for the job, then I'm inclined to agree."

"LT, are you always this trusting or are you one of those _'it's always sunny'_ kinda guys?" Drew chuckled.

"Neither. I just have plenty of experience dealing with people who are so full of shit they could fertilize an eighty acre field and can tell what is pure bullshit and what ain't."

For the first time, Drew heard both soldiers laugh and look at him like he was crazy. Jenkins shook his head, still grinning, and looked at Drew.

"Well then, I guess if we're going to follow someone as crazy as you, sir, we might as well make the best of it."


	12. Rogue Elements

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 11: Rogue Elements

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Date: April 22, 2285

Location: 5 miles outside Goldonna, Louisiana

Time: 0530 (5:30 A.M.)

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The rain fell noisily upon the broken, leaking roof of the house where Drew, Jenkins, Collins, and Izzy stayed as they examined the small settlement nearby. For what seemed like the thousandth time Drew heard Collins curse at how there was no way for him to see if there were anybody outside or how there was next to no cover between the house and the settlement.

It was by purest chance they had found this settlement as earlier they had found a wounded man who had described a man who matched Chief's description being dragged, unconscious, to a nearby, supposedly abandoned, settlement. The rain had started shortly thereafter. Drew checked the Geiger Counter on his Pipboy and watched as it ticked lightly. Thanks to Jenkins they'd already been given a dose of RadX and plus thanks to his 'survival skills', he'd found an abandoned liquor store and brought a few bottles of red wine insisting that it 'helped neutralize radiation'.

(He probably just wants to get pure shit-faced drunk...Given what we're about to do, I can't blame him.) Drew turned to see Jenkins lifting a bottle and start chugging it down like a Cherry Nuka-Cola and had second thoughts.

"Hey, Jenkins. Go easy on that stuff will you? I don't want you falling over drunk in the middle of a firefight." Jenkins looked to him and chuckled before setting the bottle down.

"Sure thing LT. I just drink when I'm bored. Guess I'll need to keep my head for this one, huh?" Drew nodded and then reached down to scratch Izzy between her shoulder blades as she lay there beside him. Jenkins saw this and looked to Drew.

"How do you do that LT? I get near that dog she starts growling like a pissed off deathclaw. What; you got dog treats in your pockets or something?" Drew shook his head and resumed petting Izzy and explained how he had tamed her at Coldwater.

"Whew. I'll tell you, that is something. Hey, tell me something. What's the deal with you? I mean most people just want to live out their lives, not giving a damn about anything except living their lives, making love to some gorgeous women every now and then, and maybe, just maybe, settling down and having kids. What's different about you?" Drew sighed and gazed out of the window and then back to Jenkins.

"I suppose I would have done just that except that a group of raiders took all that from me. Killed my best friend, destroyed my town, killed everyone I ever knew growing up. I don't know I guess something the bastards did lit a fire under my ass and got me moving on a road of no return."

"Any ideas who the raiders were?" Drew nodded.

"Yeah. They're called the 'Wolf's Skull Marauders'. I joined with the LSM to figure out where the hell they call home so that I can find them and put an end to them." Collins overheard this and came over to him and sat down.

"Wolf Skull, eh? Yeah I know of them. Did a few missions trying to cut down their leadership. Got a few low level leaders but never got to the boss. Last bit of intel I had received from my contacts was seized by that bastard Nash. All I know is that they work somewhere around the old community of Bellwood. Still, place is bound to be fortified, you'll need an army to get close and then there's also rumors about the Brotherhood of Steel in and around Provencal. Raiders AND LSM avoid that place like it's radioactive." Drew nodded and then sat down and started cleaning his rifle.

Drew had taken advantage of his rank to draw some new equipment and repair some of his old gear. The Scoped M1 had been repaired using spare parts, a new scope and flash hider was added, and he also had a new leather ammo bandoleer strapped to his armor. The 10mm submachinepistol had been modified with a stock, extended barrel, foregrip and suppressor, making it an assault rifle/ submachinegun hybrid. The only weapon that was left unmodded was his .357 revolver which was simply cleaned up. The last piece of gear he had recieved was a grenade belt with five frag grenades.

The sound of the rain slackened and the Geiger Counter stopped jumping around and he nodded to his team and tapped Izzy to get her attention and then loaded his rifle. On the horizon, he could see the barest sliver of sunlight as dawn approached.

"Let's move. We've got one chance. We screw up, the hostages die and worse, WE might die. No unnecessary noise."

In response, Clark readied his 10mm autopistol and Jenkins pulled a large knife from his belt that had not only a VERY sharp blade but also a spike pommel and a brass knuckle guard. Jenkins noticed Drew eyeing the blade and smiled.

"Like the blade? It's called a knuckleduster. Not only do I have a large blade for slicing and stabbing, I've got this pommel here for cracking skulls and the brass knuckle guard just in case I get the urge to punch someone in the face. Got the knife from one of my friends back when medics were not supposed to carry firearms. He though that I needed something to defend myself with and found this old knife in a safe somewhere. Not sure what the '1918' means but it probably means something from the pre-war days."

Drew nodded and then looked towards the settlement and then back to his group.

"Okay, we'll enter from two different points. I'll take Izzy and go in from the south. Jenkins, you and Clark go in from the east. I don't know if they'll have Chief and the civilian in the same building or in separate ones but that's a chance we'll have to take. If you guys find one or both of them, get them out of here as fast as you can. Same if we find them. If all hell breaks loose, you have permission to engage and eliminate all hostiles."

With that, Jenkins and Clark split from Drew and headed towards their path of entry. Drew and Izzy meanwhile slipped through a broken fence and crept around a burned out old trailer house and stopped by a pile of tin and broken boards when Izzy heard something and stopped dead in her tracks and lifted her ears almost vertical.

Drew readied the 10mm and watched as a man dressed in light armor that bore the Copperhead Mercenary emblem walked by him and Izzy before stopping, turning to another pile, and he heard the sound of a zipper dropping and then the grunt of relief as the man relieved himself. Drew thanked his lucky stars Izzy remained quiet as the man stood, back turned, to him. Drew leveled the 10mm, flipped the safety off, and fired a short burst into the man's head and ended him.

Quickly, he moved forward, grabbed the body and pulled it into the shadows and set it down. On the body, Drew found some caps, a stimpack, and some .357 rounds. The weapon the soldier had used, a Copperhead bolt-action rifle oftentimes called the 'Little Bastard' for its poor performance, range, and accuracy.

Discarding the weapon but keeping the ammunition, Drew moved forward again and managed to silence two more sentries before coming across a building at the center of the settlement that was under what looked to be heavy guard. Behind the building was a fenced in section that obscured whatever was behind it.

(Well, if _THAT_ 's not where they're keeping the hostages, I'M General Weathers...) Thinking about the radio on his Pipboy, Drew keyed it to Clark's frequency and pressed the transmitter.

"Clark, this is Drew, do you read me?" There was a pause and then the voice came in muffled.

 _'Yes, sir. I read you. Where are you?'_

"Close to the center of the settlement, I think I may have found the building that they are holding Chief and the civilian in. It's a large building with a makeshift barrier behind it, looks to be a sizable guard."

 _'How many?'_

"Seven...no wait, make that nine. Two just came back from what looks like a patrol. Where are you are?"

 _'We're close by. Just killed three enemies. Strange thing, these men, they have the Copperhead emblem but also have another underneath it. I think these guys may be the mercs from Talon Company that were brought into the Copperheads when they disbanded.'_ Drew grimaced, remembering the horror stories he'd heard about the mercs who had arrived from the Capital Wasteland. He wondered if the Copperheads were aware of the actions of this group but quickly cast the thoughts aside.

 _(Plenty of time to worry about that later. For now, we've got a mission to complete.)_

"Clark, you and Jenkins do something to make a diversion; I don't care what it is as long as it draws the guards away from the building."

 _'Copy that. I guess it's time to indulge my inner pyromaniac.'_

Before Drew could ask what he meant, he saw something arc across the sky and land near an intact pre-war truck. Sparing a moment to duck behind a large pile, he heard and felt the shockwave from the explosion as the grenade detonated and blew up the truck.

Literally.

The truck burned as it sailed upwards, then it came down on two of the mercs, killing them, and moments later the fire from the vehicle started cooking off the rounds the mercs had on them sending the others scurrying for cover as bullets (and grenades) started going off at random intervals.

A moment later, a 10mm round came whizzing by and punched a 10mm hole in the head of one of the mercs. That was when the other mercs shouted alarms and Drew rose, weapon on full-auto, and started firing into the mercs. Izzy ran forward, leapt, and tore at the throat of one of the men while Jenkins started shooting his carbine at the merc targeting her.

"Clark, the door!"

Clark turned just in time to see a merc in combat armor coming out and fired a flare at the merc. The flare caught on his clothing under the armor and instantly set him ablaze. As he ran at Drew screaming and cursing, Drew lifted his weapon and fired a burst at the merc's exposed head, killing him.

The merc fell backwards into a large pool of water, extinguishing him, allowing Drew and the group to come forward and examine him. Like the other mercs, he wore the Copperhead emblem but it was faded, marred, and discolored. In it's place, there was a mark that Drew had never seen before. It wasn't the Talon Company mark it looked like a six pointed star with a five pointed star in it, both gold with silver outline, and a black 'C' etched in the middle of it.

The mark seemed fairly recent and Drew was curious. He unfastened the straps on the merc armor and stowed it before looking to Clark and showing him the mark.

"Ring any bells?" Clark examined the mark and shook his head.

"Not a clue. I want to say the emblem looks familiar but my expertise was in radio communications, troop movements, and supply convoys. If anyone in L2 knows it would be my supervisor, Major Ian Krieger. He's studied emblems, colors, and other things. Once this mission is done, present this intel to the General and ask him to contact the Major. He's a good man, a damn sight better than Lieutenant Nash." Drew nodded and finished stowing the gear and then focused his sights on the door to the building. Clark nodded and looked to Jenkins.

"Jenkins, stack up with me." Drew watched as Jenkins and Clark went to either side of the door, weapons ready. Looking down, Drew picked up the merc's weapon, a pump action shotgun, and approached the door. When he got there, he handed the shotgun to Jenkins.

"Clark and I have full auto weapons, your carbine is too big to work in tight quarters." Jenkins nodded and Drew went beside him.

"On three. One. Two. THREE!"

The 12 gauge slug blew the door handle off and also blew the door in as Clark started in and opened fire on the merc inside. Clearly the man was stunned by the force of the entry or didn't expect such a sudden blast. Then again he _WAS_ in pain.

The thickest suit of chest armor wouldn't be able to protect from hot shrapnel to the groin region. Needless to say his pain was short-lived. Drew looked to Clark and Jenkins.

"Clear the building!"

As Jenkins took a step he stopped as a gruff voice came from a room up ahead.

"Stand down boys, you killed 'em all."

They turned to see a man in his late years coming forward with a young man behind him. The older man zoomed in on Drew and nodded.

"You the leader of this here rescue mission?" Drew nodded.

"Lieutenant Drew Durr. I take it you are Chief?" The man nodded.

"That's right. But the rank is MASTER Chief. Did a stint in the RRG as a gunner and later a skipper. When the Guard wouldn't let me continue, citing my age, the LSM took me in and allowed me to keep my rank. So, did you boys sabotage their radio before bursting in here?" Drew looked at Clark.

"Did you guys come across a radio on your way here?" Jenkins shook his head.

"No LT. Did you?" Drew also shook his head. Chief cursed.

"That means most likely their radio operator has already sent out a distress call and they have reinforcements on the way." Drew looked to him.

"You mean more Copperheads? I thought this was a rogue cell?" Chief shook his head.

"Son, if this was a rogue cell the Copperheads would have already nuked this place and been done with it and to hell with the hostages. No, I'm thinking the Copperheads themselves are the rogue element here. Listen, while I was being held, their leader kept communicating with someone he called 'Justice'. Don't know who he is or where he is but I can say for certain he's a Copperhead higher up." Drew nodded.

"So, how many reinforcements we can expect from the Copperheads?" Chief sighed.

"Kid, because of this guy right here, I wouldn't be surprised if we had a whole battalion's worth of those fuckers coming down on our heads. You got a way out of here?" Drew shook his head.

"No, only our feet." Chief cursed but then turned and looked out back of the building.

"Well then, looks like the rescuers are now going to be rescued. You know the building behind us? It's actually a makeshift hangar for a vertibird. Copperheads have small airbases like this one here throughout their territory. I believe there is a vertibird in the hangar but you need a hacker to enter the building and a locksmith to unlock the controls. You uh...don't happen to have any of those skills huh?" Drew smiled.

"I have a lockpicking medic and a hacker from L2 right here." Chief laughed and then smiled.

"Glory be, I guess we ain't screwed over yet. Alright then, boys, you get me to that vertibird, I can fly us out of here." Drew nodded.

"You heard them man. I'll take the lead, Jenkins on the left, Clark on the right, civilian in the middle, Chief, you comfortable with taking the rear?" Chief gave a wry smile and picked up the rifle from the dead merc and chambered a round.

"As they say down south, 'Let the Good Times Roll'... what? I can't speak French worth a damn I just BARELY manage proper English."

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	13. Escape

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

(A/N: A splitting maul is a heavy tool that is part sledgehammer and part axe. To use one, either use the axe head or, if you feel brave, hold a wedge bit and let someone you trust swing the hammer end down on the flat end of the bit to split wood.)

Chapter 12: Escape

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Date: April 22, 2285

Location: Copperhead Scout Base, Goldonna, Louisiana

Time: 1000 (10:00 A.M.)

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Drew and the group made their way out the back of the house towards the large structure that Chief had identified as a hangar. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any guards around the hangar nor were there guard dogs. Approaching the door to the hangar, Drew confirmed what Chief had told them.

It was locked by a terminal just to the left of the door. Without a word being said, Clark eased up and activated the terminal.

"Hmm... let's see... Flight Logs... Maintenance Schedules... Ammo Deliveries... Patrol Routes... Current Vertibirds in Hangar... Hmm... Lieutenant, check this out."

Clark motioned to a page on the terminal which seemed interesting enough to warrant Drew and Chief's attention. It was a message detailing the completed repairs and modifications to a new vertibird.

 _'Repairs are complete on the new Vertibird. The list as requested for modification include the replacement of the standard **VBTB-05-11** Turboprops with the prototype **VBX-00-001A** engines we _(recovered) _from the ruins of Location 06-12. This **should** boost the take-off and flight speed by roughly 32%, thereby outclassing anything the LSM, or any of the other Companies for that matter, have by far. Furthermore we have enlarged the 'blister' on the chin of the craft to house 4x 10.5mm machineguns as compared to the standard 2x 5mm machineguns. Ammunition for these weapons is being manufactured at Location 02-01.'_

 _'We have also installed a small armory for weapons and squad deployment, a multi-band radio for intercepting radio traffic from all known forces, and modified miniguns in the doors for ground support. Unfortunately, the application of the **VBRX-1-11** 'Bronco Buster' Rocket Pods will negate the flight speed so upon orders from Justice, the VBRX will be mounted onto the Vertibird we 'scavenged' from Location 01-05.'_

 _'Please be aware that in the coming weeks, the base will be expanded so that instead of three Veribirds, you will be able to house, refuel, rearm, crew, and maintain seven. The prisoners are to be handed over to F Company when they arrive, no questions asked. Your mission is to protect the new Vertibird, and this base, **AT ALL COSTS**. Once expansion is complete, the new Vertibird is to be piloted to Location 03-03 for trials and then the reverse engineering of the engines.'_

Chief read the message and chuckled.

"Well boys, I think I know what Vertibird we're taking out of here. Now come on, hack that lock!"

Clark didn't respond but smiled as there was an electronic 'beep' and a click as the lights on the door changed from red to green and the door became slightly ajar. Drew opened the door and scanned it with his weapon and then nodded to the group who filed in and closed the door behind them. Clark quickly locked the door back, cut the wiring to the terminal outside, and then barricaded the door with whatever he could find. Turning back, he found a lightswitch and flipped it on, illuminating the enclosed hangar and the Vertibird within.

Chief whistled appreciatively at the machine before them. Unlike the Vertibirds Drew had seen in passing, this one had bigger engines and a four-bladed propeller on each one instead of a three-bladed one. The body was slightly longer, the doors were larger, two impressive looking miniguns were fixed in position, and indeed as the message on the terminal had said there was a larger 'blister' on the chin beneath the cockpit that housed four deadly looking machineguns. Drew looked around and then back to the group.

"Okay, first things first. We get the top open so that we can fly out of here. Jenkins, unlock the controls for Chief so that he can see what he's got on his hands. Clark, you're with me in case there's another teminal we have to hack. Mr. Fisher, please board the Vertibird with Chief and Jenkins and strap yourself in. Izzy, guard Mr. Fisher."

The group split up although the civilian, Mr. Fisher, didn't seem to keen on a wolf dog 'guarding' him.

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 _(Chief, Jenkins, Izzy & Mr. Fisher)_

Chief automatically sat in the pilot's seat while Jenkins sat beside him in the co-pilot's seat. The lock on the controls proved easy enough to pick and then there were the chains on the landing gear which, thankfully, were so corroded Jenkins didn't need to waste a bobby pin. A few quick strikes with a nearby splitting maul was all it took to break the chains.

Once that was done, Chief was half-way through the pre-flight checklist when he cursed loudly.

"Jenkins! Someone screwed the pooch!" That phrase got Izzy to turn and look at Chief with a whine which in turn made Jenkins laugh which made Chief grimace.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, soldier! I mean someone forgot to refuel this damn thing. We have just enough fuel as is to maybe, MAYBE, make it Campti. Look around for some fuel drums and see if there's one that we can use."

Jenkins had already been eyeing a group of barrels nearby when the sound of an explosion from outside got his attention.

"Chief, I think they know where we are!" Chief grimaced and went back to the list.

"Chances are they know I'm a pilot and that traveling on foot would be too slow. They may not be the sharpest tools in the shed but they aren't stupid." Jenkins went from one drum to another cursing as each and every one was empty. He neared the last drum and kicked it experimentally and was rewarded with a loud sloshing sound.

"Got a full one here!" Chief leaned out of the door and nodded.

"Alright, the fuel door is on this side. Look for a yellow and red panel that says 'Fuel Tank' and then put that nozzle in the tank and start pumping. I'll prime the engines."

Jenkins did as he was told and in no time at all he was pushing and pulling the handle of the old manual pump refueling the Vertibird, the red-dyed fuel flowing through the clear hose.

 _(Sure hope Clark and the LT have an easier time of this than I am...)_

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 _(Drew & Clark)_

Drew and Clark were against a wall as the sound of something banging and clattering around got their attention. The hallway in the hangar was poorly lit and thus every shadow seemed about to jump out at them. Drew gave a nod to Clark and whipped around a corner and leveled his weapon at...

...a radroach.

Drew sighed, shook his head,and planted one of his armored boots onto the irradiated insect, flattening it with a sickening 'crunch'. Drew heard Clark chuckle and he turned with a serious look on his face.

"I hate those things."

Clark nodded understandingly and then pointed to a door to the end of the hallway that was slightly open. Drew creapt up to the door and slowly opened it further before nodding to Clark who then kicked the door open and leveled it at the mercenary sitting at the desk but did not fire. Drew came around to examine the man and saw that he had slit his own throat rather than surrender or be captured.

A quick search produced a small piece of paper with the word 'riposte' written on it.

Clark stepped up to the terminal and entered what proved to be the password on the terminal and scanned through the commands on screen. He found the hangar door command but also found something interesting.

"LT, this terminal has a holotape in it. Think we should take it?" Drew thought for a moment and nodded.

"It's probably got nothing of value on it but then again, sometimes the things you'd least expect to find are often in the last place you'd look. Anything else on there?" Clark nodded.

"Yeah, there's a shit-ton of data on here about this groups activities in the area. Give me a moment and I'll transfer it all to a blank holotape I always carry. Heh, never thought those old L2 rules about always carrying blank holotapes would come in handy."

Clark removed the old holotape and handed it to Drew and then stuck another one in there and then copied the data from the terminal onto the tape. Then he triggered the hangar door to open. He then got up, stepped back, and fired a burst into the terminal, much to Drew's confusion.

"L2 regs state that any terminal found to have illicit or illegal activities stored on them are to have the data copied and then be destroyed. Holotapes are the only exception to that rule." Drew nodded and then paused for a moment.

"Clark, this holotape you handed to me...it's got some writing on it." Clark sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, I say 'blank' holotape but the fact remains that any truly blank tapes were either used up or destroyed years ago. There's a branch of L2 called the 'Scavengers'. They look for holotapes in old ruins, homes, fortifications, offices, places like that. They get holotapes, wipe them clean, and then issue them as 'blank'." Clark looked at the tape in his hand.

"This tape was a recording of a child's tenth birthday from the day before the bombs fell. Scavengers found it in a home somewhere in what was once the town of Enterprise. I've found all sorts of residual data on these holotapes. Everything from graduation ceremonies to birthday parties, funerals, weddings, home movies, even a few pre-war smut films. They had a term for that pre-war called 'data mining'. That's the reason that bastard had me locked up in the first place. He's in charge of wiping data caches off the holotapes the Scavengers bring in. He wipes what he deems 'uninteresting' and keeps what he believes people will pay for." Drew knew where this was going.

"Let me guess, he keeps the smut films to sell and wipes out anything else." Clark nodded.

"Caught the bastard in the act and gave him a warning. Next thing I know, MPs are busting down my office door, combing through my files and find some 'illicit' material, and haul my ass to the brig without so much as a 'by your leave'. Didn't even read me my rights or bother to check the tapes."

Drew nodded his understanding and together they went back down the hall towards the hangar. As they neared it, Clark stopped and got Drew's attention.

"LT, listen. I go back there, I'm still a wanted man. Until I'm cleared, I can never go back to Natchitoches. If I 'escape' it comes down on your head. If I get killed, then my record is cleared until they find I'm still alive. These holotapes, in my hands they're unacceptable. Any officer in the LSM would hear my name and throw them out without so much as glancing at them. You, however, you're a new face. Likely don't have much experience in the field. They'd simply ignore you and shelve the tapes for a few years. My advice? Keep the tapes on your person or in a safe place until you get enough credibility to bring these holotapes to light. I'll go with you as far as Campti but once we get there, I'm standing down." Drew paused for a moment and then nodded.

"I understand. I'll work to clear your name Clark, of that you can be sure of. Not only are you a good man, you're one hell of a shot and your much more tech savvy than I am." Clark chuckled.

"Well, I'm a soldier no longer so if you ever do clear my name and need a mercenary for hire, You have my Pipboy frequency, just call me and I'll come running."

_*_*_*_*_*-8-8-8-8-8_*_*_*_*_8-8-8-8-8_*_*_*_*_*-8-88_*_*

Drew and Clark reached the Vertibird just as Jenkins finished filling the tank and kicking the barrel out of the way. He saw them approach and scowled.

"About damn time, what the hell were ya'll doing?!" Clark pushed past him and Drew chuckled.

"Datamining." Jenkins turned to him with a 'what the hell does THAT mean?' expression but then climbed in as he heard the Vertibird's engines spooling up. Inside, predictably, Chief was in the pilot's seat, Clark took the seat next to him, Drew manned the starboard door gun and Jenkins manned the port.

Drew watched with interest as the ortors started turning and both engines let out a low whine that quickly got louder as they sped up. Eventually the blades on the rotors were going so fast they were a blur. He checked the gun, satisfied that it was loaded and then shouted to Chief.

"How fast do these engines have to get before we take off?!" Chief looked to him and then pointed to a headset next to Drew who put it on and repeat the question.

"Rotors have to get at least to 5,500 RPMs before we even start to lift off. I'm still in the pre-takeoff checks. Last thing any of us wants is to get to Angels-One and have both engines cut on us."

"Angels-One?"

"One-thousand feet. When climbing in altitude, you fly with angels hence the term 'angels'. Two-thousand feet is Angels-Two. Three-thousand is Angels-Three, and so on and so forth."

"What's the highest this thing can fly?" Chief chuckled.

"My personal best is Angels-Fifteen. Back in the Pre-war days though, pilots would take them to Angels-Twenty or even Angels-Thirty. Of course back then they had to worry about aircraft and interceptors. Nothing but Vertibirds in the skies now. Okay, engine cycle is complete, grab your socks and hang on to whatever is closest to you, we're taking off!"

Drew and Jenkins grabbed their respective guns, Izzy wedged herself under a seat and Mr. Fisher hastily strapped himself to the seat. Sparing a glance upward, Drew saw that the roof had opened revealing a grey sky above them. He turned to the cockpit and keyed his headset.

"Chief! We got a storm coming!" The response was instant.

"Perfect, we can use it to mask our escape! No pilot in their right mind would dare fly in a storm like this. Luckily for us, I've never been in my right mind to begin with!"

The whine of the engines changed from a slow pitch to a rapid whirring sound as they reached their required start-up speed and moments later Drew felt the earth give way as the Vertibird started upwards and into the sky. As they cleared the hangar, tracers started flying by as the mercs on the ground opened up on them. A few rounds bounced off the frame by the cockpit forcing Chief to twist the bird around so that he could reorient the engines.

"Drew, I'm switching the engines for horizontal flight, while they're moving, open fire on those bastards so that they can't get a chance to hit anything vital." He didn't have to ask twice.

Drew flipped the red safety switch off, aimed the minigun down at the closest group of mercs and opened fire. The miniguns in the doors of the veribird were modified same as the craft itself, instead of six barrels, they had three, which were somewhat longer and were chambered for 10mm ammo rather than 5mm. This wasn't a minigun that was meant to be detatched for ground use.

It was an aerial support weapon through and through. And it did its job well.

10mm rounds cut through the mercs like a ripper through a brahmin. He also shredded some of the weak structures around the hangar flushing more mercs out into the open. Drew cut down the last merc and then turned to the cockpit.

"Chief, what's our heading?"

"We're making a bee-line for Natchitoches. South by Southwest. Why do you ask?"

"Is it possible to allow for a stopover point for Clark? He...uh...isn't exactly needed in Natchitoches at the moment." There was a pause before Chief spoke again.

"I know what happened at the L2 office Lieutenant. Fact is that intel Clark gave us saved my life and the lives of some damn good soldiers time and again. You don't have to deceive me, you would rather claim him killed than return him to the brig or pay a fine that would not only be hefty but also tarnish your still budding reputation with the LSM brass, right?"

"That's about the size of it." Chief laughed for a moment and then replied.

"Thought as much. Very well, just so happens I know a little place called 'Hole In The Wall' that would serve his purpose. We'll make a trip there and then back to Natchitoches. First though, I've got to radio the LSM and tell them we are returning but we're minus one."

Moments later, Drew heard Chief speak again.

"Attention. Attention. LSM Base Two-Seven this is Bird Dog, come in Two-Seven."

 _'Bird Dog this is Two-Seven. Heard you were in trouble, y'alright?'_

"A couple of bruises and scrapes but I'll live. We are inbound in a Vertibird we 'liberated' from our hosts. I have Lieutenant Durr and his group to thank for my rescue. They lost one of their own in the fight though, Staff Sergeant Clark. Couldn't retrieve the body due to a hot exfil. No other serious injuries to report."

 _'Copy that. Sorry to hear that. On further note for Lieutenant Durr, is he there, Chief?'_ Drew keyed the headset.

"This is he, I'm here."

 _'General Weathers said to contact you once you returned. He's headed for Fort Polk, we heard rumors a raider attack on the armory there is imminent. Once you get here, you'll be travelling by Vertibird with VPAC to reinforce the fort.'_ Drew looked to Clark and mouthed 'VPAC?' Thankfully, Chief answered.

"VPAC stands for 'Vertibird Power Armor Corps'. Basically LT, these guys jump out of Vertibirds in full combat rig and kick ass. The more famous, or rather 'infamous', of the Corps is the 1st Division, 1st Battalion, Alpha Company. AKA the Helljumpers. Twenty seven of the deadliest, strongest, craziest sonofbitches in the whole LSM. You want something done quick? You call on them to get it done."

"Two-Seven, will I be deploying with the Helljumpers?"

 _'Affermative. A replacement for Clark will be waiting for you here. Plus sir, you'll be issued a Rig.'_

Before Drew could ask what a rig was, Chief chimed in.

"What model?"

 _'The only rigs we have in stock that aren't piles of crap are the T-45d's and the T-51b's. Due to his rank and previous results, he's getting a 51b. Word of note though, the Helljumpers are all equipped with the T-60 units. Your Vertibird will be what you fly in but you will be in formation with the Helljumpers. Two-Seven out.'_


	14. Not So Fortunate Son

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 13: Not So Fortunate Son

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Date: April 22, 2285

Location: Natchitoches, Louisiana, LSM North Supply Base

Time: 1500 hrs. (3:00 P.M.)

_*_*_*_*_*_*-8-8-8-8-8_**_*_*_*_88-8-88_*_*_*_*_*-8-

Drew eased out of the Vertibird as the rotors spun down from the flight and Chief leapt out to run to the fueling depot to request refueling while Jenkins ran to the supply depot to replenish his medical supplies and ammunition. Izzy remained there while Mr. Fisher was escorted to a nearby vehicle to be escorted to the HQ for debriefing. A Sergeant came over and saluted him.

"Lieutenant Drew Durr? Your new squadmember is in the ready room. Your new rig is at the armory. Be warned though, the rigs here aren't like the ones at Baton Rouge. Most of what we got up here are second hand or on their last legs. I've seen the rig you're going to be given. All I can say is that make sure you clean it up the first chance you get."

Before Drew had a chance to ask what he meant, he was called away by another officer leaving Drew to head for the ready room.

_*_*_*_**_*_*-8-8-8-8-8_**_**-8-8

As he walked into the ready room, he went to the clerk and gave his name and was handed a folder. Upon opening it, he was surprised by what he saw.

Rhys Dollinger, Caucasian, 31, No Affiliation with LSM.

Last known Assossiates: Brotherhood of Steel.

Actions to Be Taken: None.

Threat Level: None.

Application for LSM Work: ACCEPTED.

Application for Freelance Work: ACCEPTED.

Further notes: Has own Power Armor, T-60B class. Has said he is no longer affiliated with the BoS, nor does he wish to be affiliated with them.

Drew turned and immediately noticed a man sitting near a suit of power armor that, to the untrained eye looked to be in well kept condition but Drew had been used to jury-rigging weapons and machines to work and saw that the armor was not in as great a condition as it looked to be. Proof was the fact that the armor piece on the left arm and right leg were actually from a T-45f unit, the left leg was from a T-51a, and the right arm was actually some sort of improvised pieces of armor bolted, welded, and lashed together on the original piece. Drew closed the folder after signing on it and approached the man standing by the armor. He was indeed in his early thirties, had short cut blonde hair, a trimmed moustache and beard, and dark brown eyes.

"Excuse me, are you Rhys Dollinger?" The man looked up and nodded.

"Yes, I am. Are you Lieutenant Drew Durr?" Drew nodded.

"Indeed. So, what made you want to work with the LSM?" Rhys sighed and nodded.

"Since you'll be my group leader, I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Heh, never thought I'd be spouting precepts but, 'There are no secrets between soldiers in combat'. If you must know, I was part of the Brotherhood of Steel, however, I had a...'disagreement' with the Elder of our Chapter and...it came to blows and I was exiled." Rhys stopped for a moment to gaze around to see if anyone was listening in.

"He believed that the Brotherhood must observe the situation as it unfolds and then go in and secure the tech once the dust settles but I...I couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen. There is something going on in the LSM, Lieutenant. Something that I fear has the capacity to shake the LSM to its core and possibly destroy what people have worked so hard to rebuild. If we have ANY hope of rising from the ashes of the old world, we must secure civilization and try to raise as many people as we can from the squalor they are living in now."

Drew nodded that he understood and then motioned to the armor.

"The LSM hasn't offered any repairs or spare parts? Your armor looks like it's about to fall apart at the slightest jarring." Rhys chuckled at the observation.

"Yeah, it's seen better days. A...consquence...of my seperating from the Brotherhood. As a result, I've had to make do with whatever parts I could scavenge. Heh, you should've seen it BEFORE the LSM found me. I was about ready to cast off the armor and do what I could with regular armor. People just aren't intimidated by you unless you're wearing a suit of intact power armor and carrying a BFG." Drew ws curious by that and looked back to him.

"What's a BFG?" Rhys laughed and then pulled a large weapon from the holster on the armor and held it with ease.

"Simple. BFG stands for 'Big Fuckin' Gun'. When I was with the Brotherhood, I was a fair shot with a Gatling Laser. Now I find that, with Fusion Cores in short supply, a shotgun works just as well." Drew chuckled and nodded while Rhys placed the shotgun back into the holster.

"Right, well Rhys, Vertibird is the one with the dog sitting in the passenger area. Just don't try to pet her unless I'm there otherwise she may bite your hand off." Rhys nodded, rose, and activated his power armor. He answered, his voice sounding distorted through the helmet's voice box.

"Got it."

He then turned and left, his heavy footsteps echoing through the hallway as he exited.

Drew turned and went through the door into the adjacent room which was the armory. It didn't take long to find the Quartermaster as he was standing by a suit of power armor and making some adjustments to the circuitry inside. He cleared his throat to get the man's attention and almost laughed as the man jumped and cursed as the some wiring in the armor sparked.

"Dammit! Who the hell thinks it's a damn good idea to sneak up on a man when he's holding live electrical wires hoping to whatever power is in the world that he don't fry his nuts touching the wrong wire!" His expression immediately reversed when he saw Drew and he coughed.

"Oh, it's you. Well, about damn time you arrived. I was beginning to think you'd not show. Oh very well, let's get on with it." The Quartermaster closed the panel over the wiring and then made a 'ta da!' wave of his hands.

"Lieutenant, this is your new rig. She's a bit older than most of the units in service today but she still has some life in her. Now, I know you were told she's a T-51b but...I did some parts comparison and turns out she's a T-51f. Slightly more advanced, better defended, unfortunately while she is an 'f' model, her armor is...not as sturdy as it once was."

Drew got a closer look at the armor and realized what he had thought was old paint was actually blood staining the chestplate, right arm, and some of the interior frame. The Quartermaster saw this and sighed.

"Now you see why we are accepting help from the Companies and why we have freelance contracts. This armor belonged to a member of the Helljumpers, Sergeant Alan Roark. Good man. Didn't die until he had returned to base and got out of the armor. Twelve men are still alive because he didn't give up. He used himself as a shield to protect wounded comrades and civilians. Took damn near two dozen enemies down before one of the bastards got a lucky shot." Drew looked over the armor and nodded sadly.

"What about his unit?"

"Most of them are attending the funeral but Sergeant Roark was well known by the entire unit. You'll likely run into someone who recognizes the armor. Not to worry though, most of the people in VPAC use someone else's armor."

Drew inspected the armor and then noticed the opening in the back of the armor.

"What about this hole here? What goes into it?" The Quartermaster made an exasperated sigh and walked around to the armor.

"That's the socket where you fit the fusion core. Now, fusion cores are pre-war tech that was used for a whole slew of purposes. Anything from powering homes independantly from the power grid, to hospitals, to military installations, to power armor. As a result there are still plenty that are still out there powering buildings that have long since fallen. Here, these are a few examples of fusion cores that we have in stock."

Drew looked at the metal block that held four different types of fusion cores. One was yellow, the next was painted green, the one after that was blue, another was white, then purple, and the last was red. The Quartermaster saw his confusion and decided to elaborate.

"According to some records we found in Baton Rouge, fusion cores were first developed by West Tek, the creators of power armor. Soon after that, the designs were leaked to several other companies. Big MT in Nevada, Poseidon Energy, the Institute in Boston, Massachusettes, the Gulf State Energy Commission in New Orleans, Louisiana, and even the US Army Corps of Engineers." Drew nodded that he understood then asked the question on his mind.

"What's the difference?" The Quartermaster smiled as if he'd been waiting for him to ask.

"I'm glad you asked, first off, you'll notice the color, well that was the result to make each fusion core unique for each company. The yellow one is West Tek, the green one is ACE, the blue is Poseidon, the white is from the Institute, purple is GSEC, and the red is Big MT. The second is that each one carries a different charge." The Quartermaster then flipped the block around and pointed to them.

"The West Tek core was developed on the belief that the armor would only be used for missions, meaning it had a charge that lasted anywhere between twenty-four to thirty-six hours. The core developed by the ACE as well as Poseidon were basically a West Tek core on Jet, Psycho, Buffout, and any other chems you can think of, allowing the soldier to remain on the field for seventy-two hours. The Institute Fusion Core lasted even longer and is able to power troops for a five days, the Commission Fusion Core lasts six days, and the Big MT cores were supercharged to power the armor for a week." Drew nodded.

"So, which core do I get for my armor? I'm going to Fort Polk and I don't want to be useless out there." The Quartermaster nodded and set the block back down.

"Standard allotment of resources, meaning fusion cores, for regular LSM PAC and VPAC soldiers is one ACE fusion core and three West Tek fusion cores per operation. This allows them to stay in the field for six days before needing to resupply. However, you are neither regular PAC or VPAC, so the allotment doesn't apply to you." The Quartermaster noticed Drew's expression and then continued.

"No need to glare at me Lieutenant, I'm just saying the regular allotment doesn't apply to you because of you special status. You have earned a reputation as General Weathers' 'go-to' guy for urgent assignments. So I am to give you a Poseidon core as well as a backup ACE core. However, this is a one-time only thing. Once these cores go dark, you'll need to pay a fee to recharge them, scavenge your own, or purchase them from the supply depot." Drew nodded and inserted the Poseidon core.

The T-51f armor came to life as he unlocked it and then entered it. He heard a system come on and then a voice.

'GREETING PILOT. WELCOME TO THE NEWEST INNOVATION OF WEST TEK POWER ARMOR SYSTEMS. THIS IS THE WEST TEK FOXTROT MODEL OF THE T-51 POWERED ARMOR WEAPON PLATFORM.'

"Hey Quartermaster, the armor's talking to me." He heard a groan.

"Roark must've been hit harder than I thought. The onboard CPU must have been reset to factory mode. Hmm...give me a second and I'll see what I can do." Drew waited for a moment and then he felt someone tap the armor.

"Okay, it says to start the armor, say 'Begin Diagnostics'." Drew nodded.

"Begin diagnostics." The armor came on as the power plant revved up and the CPU powered on.

'COMMAND ACKNOWLEDGED. RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC PROGRAMS... ERROR... ARMOR DAMAGE SUSTAINED... ERROR...BIOHAZARD DETECTED... ERROR... ELECRICAL AND HYDROLIC FAILURES DETECTED...RESETTING PROTOCOLS...CONFIRMED.'

'NEW PILOT DETECTED. PLEASE STATE NAME, RANK, AND UNIT ASSIGNMENT.'

"Drew Durr, Lieutenant...uh...unit assignment?" The Quartermaster was there.

"Say Tenth Corps, Special Operations Division." Drew did so.

'LIEUTENANT DREW DURR, TENTH CORPS, SPEC OPS...CONFIRMED. PLEASE STAND BY FOR UNIT ORIENTATION. HEADS UP DISPLAY ACTIVE. PLEASE LOOK TO THE LOWER LEFT OF THE HUD. THIS DISPLAY INDICATES ARMOR DAMAGE AND EFFICIENCY.'

'THE BAR ON THE BOTTOM IS THE INTERNAL COMPASS.'

'THE NEXT GAUGE IS THE CORE POWER DISPLAY. THIS DISPLAY SHOWS THE REMAINING CHARGE IN THE CURRENTLY EQUIPPED FUSION CORE. WARNING, SHOULD THE POWER CORE DEPLETE, FUNCTION OF VITAL SYSTEMS WILL CEASE.'

'THE LAST DISPLAY IS THE AP GAUGE. CERTAIN ACTIONS DEPLETE THE CORE MORE THAN OTHERS. FOR EXAMPLE, SIMPLY WALKING IN THE ARMOR HAS A ONE PERCENT POWER DRAIN WHILE RUNNING OR SPRINTING HAS A TEN PERCENT DRAIN. ALSO, USING THE INSTALLED VATS SYSTEM USES ENERGY.'

'ALERT...DAMAGED PARTS DETECTED...OVERALL COMBAT EFFICIENCY REDUCED TO EIGHTY PERCENT...PLEASE REPAIR BEFORE DEPLOYMENT.'

Drew turned to the Quartermaster.

"Do you have any undamaged parts in stock?" The Quartermaster laughed loudly.

"Kid, we haven't had undamaged parts here since the Interstate rolled through. You want undamaged parts? Best go to Fort Polk or go to Alexandria or better still, Baton Rouge. Now, I've got some materials, scrap iron, some steel, copper, and some other stuff and a welder you can use to repair your current pieces but be warned they won't function as well as actual armor pieces." Drew nodded.

"Alright, I'm afraid I'm not as good with a welder as I'd like to be so you'll have to walk me through the repair procedures." The Quartermaster nodded.

"Alright. Least I can do is make sure you come back in one piece."

_*_*_*_*_*_*_8-8-8-8-8-8_*_*_*_*_*_8-8-8-8-*_*_*_*_*-8-8-8

A few moments (and some hasty repairs and clean-up) later, Drew came out of the officer with his power armor and walked towards the Vertibird that was waiting for him. As soon as he saw him, Izzy started wagging her tail happily, Rhys raised a hand in greeting, Jenkins and Chief looked up from their flight checks and repairs to nod before returning to work and then, wonder of wonders, Sarge came from around the side and waved to him.

"Well kid, looking like a regular badass now. All you need is a dislike for ghouls, a gatling laser or a plasma weapon and you could pass for one of those Brotherhood jack-offs." This brought a grunt from Rhys which in turn made Sarge chuckle before he tossed his gear in the Vertibird. Drew whistled.

"You're coming with us Sarge?" Sarge flashed a smile and nodded.

"Yep. I ain't staying around here much longer, too many memories for this old man." Drew sighed.

"Well we won't be gone for long. Just a quick hop to Fort Polk and back." Sarge chuckled.

"Heh, well, I needed a vacation anyway. I've been...stuck around Natchitoches since the bombs fell. Too many nasty creatures roaming around for my liking. It's funny actually. Before the war, going from here to Fort Polk or even to Baton Rouge and New Orleans was just a nice calm drive. Now, it's like an pilgrimage." Drew climbed in the Vertibird after Sarge and sat across from him, slowly petting Izzy as Chief and Jenkins started it up.

"This may sound crazy but...what was Baton Rouge or New Orleans like before the bombs?" Sarge leaned back in the seat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw all the others looking towards him. Of all the people on the Vertibird, he was by far the oldest and he doubted that anyone else had any interesting tales.

"Well...Baton Rouge was the capital city of the state but, in my opinion, mainly because I was born in New Orleans, the Big Easy was the more lively of any cities in the state. The city was so...energetic, there was almost a party every night. Even the funerals were grand parties that celebrated life instead of mourning the dead. People in the city never even guessed there was a war on...at least...not until gas jumped to fifteen dollars a gallon. Then, there were the hard days."

"The hard days?" Sarge nodded to Rhys who had spoke.

"Yeah. It all started with the GSEC. Gulf State Energy Commission, the leading provider of gasoline, oil, and nuclear power to the entire gulf coast. They owned the twenty-seven deep water rigs in the Gulf of Mexico and ran them day and night to try and restore balance to the economy, because, let's face it, no one back then wanted to pay over ten dollars for a gallon of gas and because of the gas prices, food costs soared upwards as well. However, it came at a cost. The rigs were old, in serious need of repair, some had been working since the early twenty-tens." Drew looked to him.

"What happened?"

"On September 7th, GSEC Rig Number Eleven overloaded and came apart. Well, blew up is the more appropriate term. The fireball was so massive that people in touring New Orleans checked their watches to make sure they hadn't partied all night. GSEC rushed to stop the leak of out but that one event was like opening up Pandora's Box. The next week, another rig, Number 13, was in transit when it came across wreckage from the old Deepwater Horizon wreck and toppled over. Then a Chinese spy snuck aboard Gulf Airlines 1356 and hijacked it, crashing it into Rig Four." Sarge sighed as he recalled the headlines.

"Then, on October 26th, the day before the bombs fell, explosions rocked the levees. GSEC chalked it down as a failed Chinese plot but that didn't stop the panic. Then, well, you know the rest. The bombs fell, finished off the levees, and now most of New Orleans lies under one hundred feet of water. Worst part is that it was rumored that the President was in New Orleans overseeing the damage to the levees when the bombs fell." Drew nodded as the engines revved up and the radio came on.

'This is LSM Control North to Vertibird Echo-Four-Four-Two. The Helljumpers have already left and are en route to Fort Polk. General Weathers' has personally suggested that you haul ass out there before things get any uglier than they already are.' Chief keyed his radio.

"442 copies. We are hauling." As the Vertibird lifted off, Jenkins turned on the radio just in time for a piano to start playing. Then, through the radio came the voice of the one, the only Elvis.

You can run on for a long time.

Run on for a long time.

Run on for a long time.

Let me tell ya God Almighty's gonna cut you down.

Let me tell ya God Almighty's gonna cut you down...


	15. Lead Rain

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 14: Lead Rain

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Date: April 22, 2285

Location: Fort Polk, Leesville, Louisiana

Time: 2200 hours (10:00 P.M.)

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The first clue anyone had was that the radio suddenly became filled with static and was shut off. The only sounds was the breathing of the occupants, and the whir of the veribirds props as the aircraft flew through the air. Drew cautiously looked around and tapped Rhys to make sure he was still awake.

He was.

"Yeah Lieutenant, what's wrong?" Rhys noticed the missing tunes of the LSM radio and had an 'ah ha!' moment.

"It's official, we're outside the LSM. Good thing Chief turned the radio off. Out here the only radio signals you can actually get a clear signal from are raider outposts, smugglers, and old pre-war distress calls. The territory outside the LSM in these parts is known as the Boneyard."

"The Boneyard?" Rhys nodded.

"Yeah, Fort Polk and Barksdale were the two largest inland military bases for the US Army and Air Force pre-war. New Orleans was the biggest Navy and Coast Guard Port. Since Leesville took a direct hit, the area around it is still highly radioactive. Plus, ghouls roam the area as well as other mutated creatures." Drew looked at him.

"Like what?" Rhys shrugged.

"I don't know. We sent a few patrols out here a few years ago, back when I was an Initiate. It didn't end well. The only radio reports talk about a desolate town covered in green fog that made Geiger counters jump like nothing anyone'd ever seen before. Plus, the base was garrisoned by a skeleton company of LSM soldiers who were constantly fighting off either ghouls, deathclaws, or something the patrols called 'Crawlers'."

Nearby Sarge stirred as he heard that and growled angrily. Rhys turned to him.

"You ain't going feral on us are you old man? I'd hate to have that I had to put down my CO's comapnion on my resume." Sarge coughed and looked at Rhys.

"Trust me kid, if I WAS going feral, you'd be the first person I rip apart. No...I was thinking about something." Drew looked at him.

"Like what?"

"I'd heard about these Crawlers before. Back before the bombs fell. Scientists were working on something called Project Lung, a jab at the Chinese, and were said to be creating a type of bioweapon to use against them. I guess the bombs put an end to that and the creatures got out somehow. I don't know what they are but, from what I've heard from survivors, I wouldn't like to get in a fight with one of them. Sounds like bad voodoo all the way 'round."

Rhys nodded and eased back into his seat, gazing out the window and watching the landscape pass by. Drew turned on the Pipboy and started flipping through the radio signals that he managed to pick up every once in a while. True to what Rhys had said, there was nothing out here but old pre-war chatter and a few channels of gibberish. He gazed at the display and then saw something odd.

FREQ 107.9 UNKNOWN

He selected the signal and turned the volume up to where he could hear it.

'Emergency! Emergency! This is Fort Polk Command; we are under attack! Repeat: we're under attack! We have raiders coming in from the west and south and ghouls to the north! Any LSM or Company forces nearby, please respond!'

Drew went pale and leaned forward.

"Chief! Did you hear that?!" Chief turned around in his seat and eyed Drew with a deadpan expression.

"Kid, I think everyone in the next parish heard that! I'm disengaging the locks on the doors and flipping the weapon safeties off. Man the miniguns in the doors and hang on!"

He heard the locks on the doors click as they disengaged. He glanced at Sarge and Izzy.

"Sarge! Stay back with Izzy while Rhys and I man the guns!"

"You won't hear an arguement from me! I'm getting too old for this shit!" Drew and Rhys chuckled as they rose, folded their seats into the doors, and then opened the doors at the same time and swiviled the miniguns into the ready positions.

No sooner were they ready when the radio came to life as Chief switched frequencies and started transmitting.

"This is Echo 442 to Fort Polk. Lieutenant Drew Durr and group are inbound with hot weapons. We are waiting for target flares to let us know where you need us!"

Almost immediately a red flare shot up from the Fort and arced over a small section where several tracers and explosions were seen. Drew then noticed something out of the corner of his eye and saw two more Vertibirds coming towards them.

"Contact right! Two Vertibirds coming in!"

A moment later the radio crackled and came on.

'Echo 442, this is Bird Dog Two and Bird Dog Three, we are coming in to assist you and will follow your orders.' Drew looked at the aircraft curiously and then keyed his radio.

"This is Lieutenant Drew Durr, you guys said you're following OUR lead? What happened to your Section Leader?"

'They bought it sir. Got shot down in the first few minutes of the attack. Crashed near the ghouls, no survivors. The raiders have impressive weapons, good shots, and I'll be damned if I know how they got them, but they also have rocket launchers.'

"Copy that. Bird Dog Two, fall in on the left side, Three on the right. We're going to do a high speed pass over the raiders, guns blazing. In and out before they can bring their weapons to bear."

'Three copies. On your wing.'

Drew saw the other Vertibirds line up with them and ready their miniguns as well. He also heard the engines pick up in pitch as Chief pushed the throttle to full power. In a flash, the LSM lines and the fort sailed below and he could see the faces of raiders staring up at them dumbfounded.

"Let 'em have it!"

The miniguns in the doors started to spin and an incredible roar deafened him as red tracers started pouring from the barrel. A series of loud reports was also heard as the machineguns on the Vertibirds started firing as well. Drew saw the gunners on the other Vertibirds doing the same and raking them back and forth, trying to clear as many as possible.

As Chief turned the aircraft to start a second run, Drew looked down and noticed feral ghouls running at the raiders AND the LSM.

"All aircraft, eyes low at ten 'o clock. Ferals rushing LSM and the Raiders!"

As they turned, a series of loud explosions echoed from the fort causing Drew to look towards it. He was just in time to see several shells arc into the air and come down on the Raiders. The radio came to life as Drew turned to see what was going on.

'This is Fort Polk Fire Command. We managed to get a few of these old 155mm cannons working again. Vertibird Echo 442, if you could drop flares into the enemy ranks, we can thin them out a bit, maybe break their will to fight all together.'

"We copy. Drew! There's a box of drop flares behind you. To light one, slam the end with the gold cap against the hull and drop it out the door. Use your best judgement as to where the raiders pose the greatest threat."

Drew eased out and did a quick scan of the field and saw some raider trying to set up several rocket launchers and aim them at the troops. He grabbed a flare, struck the end, shut his eyes as the flare lit up a bright, bright red and tossed it at the the group.

The flare struck the ground and started billowing red smoke into the air. Drew got the radio and keyed it.

"Alert! Raider rocket launcher being set up at red smoke. Range is roughly twelve hundred yards from fort! They're aiming at the squad taking cover behind the old tank!" An explosion of profanity came through.

'That's D Group of the French Guard! They were trying to pull the wounded back to the safety of the walls!' Drew scowled.

"Tell them to get the hell out of there!"

'We can't! The French Guard has their own radio frequency and we don't know it!'

"Can you fire?"

'Negative! Currently reloading!" Drew swore.

"Chief! Hard right turn, now! Rhys, when we come about, rake those bastards with the minigun!"

He had just enough time to grab hold of something when the Vertibird turned hard and almost went horizontal. Rhys was a little more graceful than he and was quick on the trigger. A split second after the maneuver, two-hundred and fifty 5mm rounds ripped through the three raiders on the small hill and reduced the rocket launchers to scrap. Drew nods and keys the radio.

"Echo 442 to Command, lauchers are scrapped. Continuing air support."

'Negative. Repeat: negative. Echo 442, come to the Fort and land immediately.' Drew looked up to see Chief looking at him curiously.

"Wonder what they want?" Drew shrugged and contented himself to watch as Chief brought the Vertibird in low over the fort and landed on the makeshift landing pad near the admin building.

Once he got out, he was met with a lieutenant who nodded and pointed to the building.

"General Weathers is waiting for you inside sir. I don't know the details but it sounded urgent." Drew nodded and exited the power armor outside the office, removed the fusion core, and entered the building.

After a few moments of getting his bearings in the old building, he was finally pointed towards an office near the back of the building. He knocked and waited for a moment before entering. There, sitting behind an old desk littered with papers, was General Weathers, grim as death and looking ready to explode at the drop of a hat. Once he looked up and saw Drew however, his expression changed and he nodded solumnly.

"Drew, I thank you for protecting the Guard like you did. However, I'm afraid I have a situation that is more up your alley." Weathers motioned a hand oer to his left and Drew saw Red Eagle sitting there in leather armor, shotgun resting in his lap.

"Now then, I'm sure you two already know each other so I'll get right to the point. I don't know what your personal vendettas are and under normal circumstances I wouldn't give a damn what you did so long as you did it on your own time and didn't involve the LSM, however, this time it can't be avoided. Drew, we discovered something about the group of raiders trying to break into this place. They're being lead by a man named Chuckles, and rumor is that he's Smiling Jack's right hand man."

THAT got Drew's attention.

"He's Wolf Skull?" Weathers nodded.

"Yep. He's Jack's second in command of the Wolf Skull and just so happens to have a second of his own here, fellow by the name of Dawson who also happens to be on your friend Red Eagle's shit list. Now, I don;t know what the Marauders are doing this far south nor do I know if Jack sanctioned the attack or wants something from here. Bottom line is, Chuckles and Dawson are the only two holding this group of dirtbags together. I want you and Red Eagle to cut the head of this snake before it bites us in the ass." Drew nodded, then thought of something and turned back to the general.

"Sir, how did Chuckles get his name?" Weathers grunted.

"It easier to say than Javier Bieuchanan. That and the bastard's got something wrong in the head, he laughs at absolutely everything. Word has it when he was just a thug in Baton Rouge, a bounty hunter shot his nuts off with a twelve gauge slug." Drew actually winced as he heard the general say this and Weathers nodded understandingly.

"It gets worse, here was this guy, bleeding from a wound that would have crippled most men, and he straightened up, smiled and actually started laughing at the man. The bounty hunter had just enough time to wish he'd put the bullet through his head when Chuckles came at him, ripper in hand. The streets were filled with Chuckles' laughter as he gutted, dismembered, and filleted the bounty hunter. Oh, did I forget to mention the sick bastard's a cannibal?" Drew started looking sick and Weathers nodded.

"We had six men taken prisoner the day before I arrived here. Just this morning, a brahmin came walking in the gate with two large boxes strapped to it with a note saying 'Thanks for the meal'. Inside were the bones of the six men who'd been taken prisoner. One of the men was the base commander's son." Drew looked around for the man but then Weathers held up his hand.

"No need to console him, Lieutenant. He went into the office on the other side of the building and blew his brains out when the soldiers at the gate pulled his son's skull out of the crate, his ID tags drilled into it as a sort of identification." Drew scowled as he heard this and looked to the General.

"I take it you would prefer if I ended this bastard's miserable existance?" General Weathers glowered angrily.

"No Lieutenant. The officer was a close friend of mine. His son had a lot of potential, he had dreams, big plans for the future. Now they're both gone. I want you to make this sonuvabitch's last moments on this world a living hell. Do whatever you think neccessary to facilitate his demise, if you feel you need one, I'll even authorize you to take a Fat Man and a few Mini-nukes from the armory."

Drew went wide-eyed at the venom in the General's voice. Plus, a Fat Man was one of the most dangerous weapons in the world just shy of a full-blown nuke. The Fat Man put the power of a nuclear weapon into the hands of a single soldier.

The weapon and ammo was also exceedingly rare, the Mini-nuke warheads even more so than the weapons. It was common knowledge that once an area rumored to have Mini-nukes was located, the LSM always deployed in force to secure them and almost NEVER issued them to the rank and file.

Issueing a weapon and ammo to a freelancer like Drew was unheard of and would likely cost General Weathers his stars.

With that in mind, Drew raised his hand and shook his head.

"No sir, I won't be needing a Fat Man, however, I would like to make a request." Weather eyed Drew with a curious, yet resolute, expression.

"Name it."


	16. Fire In The Hole

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 15: Fire In The Hole

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Date: April 23, 2285

Location: Fort Polk, Leesville, Louisiana

Time: 0500 hours (5:00 AM)

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'Fire In the Hole, Run for Cover.'

'Just dream the dream, gonna hook it on up,'

'One way or another.'

'Ya'll get out the way, if you wanna save your souls.'

'Cause all Hell's gonna break loose, Fire In the Hole...'

The soldiers nearby kept singing despite the lack of a radio as Drew went through the final checklist and performed the fine tuning of his power armor and weapons. The Raiders had pulled back, but they hadn't retreated.

Yet.

Drew flashed back to the moment he'd asked for a special piece of equipment from General Weathers. If it was possible for a man to look pleased, mortified, and downright gleeful all at once, well, when Drew turned down the Fat Man and instead requested a Flamer unit, General Weathers did indeed smile like such a man.

In fact, the General had done Drew one better, he didn't just issue him a regular Flamer, no, he issued him a Reinforced, Modified Flamer that originally belonged to a soldier with the Assault Corps.

This Flamer unit had expanded, armored tanks, a reinforced fuel hose, and a completely overhauled nozzle or 'wand' as it was called.

This weapon could spew a chemical mixture called Napalm almost two hundred feet. The stuff stuck to ANYTHING or ANYONE dumb enough to stand in the way and plus, once it caught fire, was next to impossible to extinguish. You could jump into a lake and you'd still be burning. Drew assumed that, like the weapon, the fuel was modified with a substance called phosphorous.

Still, he wondered what the hell he was thinking as he essentially strapped an almost one-hundred pound bomb to his back. He and his group were to loop around the Raider group, come up from the rear and bar-be-que their asses. A glance over at Red Eagle saw the man still tinkering with his shotgun. For the first time, he got a good look at the weapon.

It was a pump-action shotgun, probably a 12 gauge, with a choke at the end of the barrel, and extended tube for more ammo, and a padded stock to reduce the effect of the recoil. Then, something odd. There, on the stock, was a star in a circle. Red Eagle caught his glance and smiled knowingly.

"This weapon, it is known as Path-clearer. All such weapons that bear this mark are given names. This is the mark of the Texas Rangers. Great soldiers and lawmen who kept the peace in the pre-war days. It was said that no man had ever killed a Texas Ranger and lived to tell it. The Rangers were a family, and they doggedly hunted down any who hurt that family. They were, simply, the best." Drew nodded that he understood.

"Are there other such weapons? Or is that one unique?" Red Eagle shook his head.

"No, no. There are MANY weapons like this one. But, you cannot simply be GIVEN one. It must be EARNED. I earned the right to carry this weapon when I killed two Yao Gui and three Giant Radscorpions that were fighting near our village. Now our Chief, he had a rare weapon as well. A set of revolvers that were said to have belonged to a Ranger who died at some place called the 'Alamo' a long, long time ago." Drew nodded in amazement and then returned his attention to the others.

Because he lacked Power Armor, Sarge was unable to accompany him this time, plus, due to the number of wounded at the fort, Jenkins had been 'requisitioned' by the base physician to assist with the triage and other duties requiring skilled hands. That left Drew with Red Eagle and Izzy for the ground team and left Rhys and Chief for the air support.

Thankfully, General Weathers had also had the foresight to order a few mechanics to repair any damage to his and Rhys' Power Armor units and also gave Drew permission to trade whatever he salvaged from the Raiders at the supply depot as well as leave any weapons he didn't need behind.

Since carrying so many weapons was tiring, Drew opted for the Flamer, traded in some captured equipment for a 10mm SMG, and also kept his .357 Magnum. However, he didn't pass up on the chance to modify the venerable old weapon. A new frame, cylinder, and a longer barrel made the weapon more effective than it had been before.

With his gear sorted and the excess stowed, he boarded the Vertibird just as Chief pronounced it good to go and started the engines. No sooner had Drew stowed the Flamer and Rhys had loaded fresh ammo belts into the miniguns did Chief take off and angle the Vertibird to the first waypoint to start the flanking maneuver.

As common sense would suggest, Rhys and Drew both manned the miniguns on the left and right side while the front weapons remained silenced unless Chief decided to switch their operation over to himself. Thankfully, they reached the first point with no trouble at all and spotted no signs of hstile activity other than a feral ghoul that looked up, let out a roar, and tried to run after the machine only to run smack into a group of molerats which tore the ghoul to shreds.

Drew couldn't help but think it was a good thing Sarge WASN'T there to see THAT particular scene. When it came to ghouls, Sarge was lukewarm. He killed the feral ones simply as an act of mercy, never hate. They may be grotesque creatures now but, once upon a time long ago, they were men and women. People that he may have once known, friends, family, or close kin. The only difference was that they absorbed what should have been lethal ammounts of radiation but instead of dying, they mutated.

That was why Sarge wasn't keen on firing on feral ghouls but at the same time, he couldn't let people who once had been honest, hard working people like himself suffer the Hell that their existance had become. Blinded by pain, fear, and rage, they deserved a little mercy, for once.

As they neared the second waypoint, an old distress signal came over Drew's Pipboy. The signal was from an airliner, TransGulf Flight 412, that apparently lost power from the nuclear blast and went down somewhere near De Ridder. After listening to the message and then hearing it start to repeat, Drew turned off the radio and lowered his head. Rhys saw this and nodded.

"Most people don't give a damn about those old messages. It's easy to say, 'They died a long time before I was born' and forget about it. But those lives were people, just coming home from vacation, or coming to the States on buisness trips. By removing the human element from those messages, we can bury the fact that people lost their lives. Nor are they the only ones." Rhys looked out the door at the charred landscape and notted the few trees that still grew, a mere shadow of the lush forests that once grew here.

"The simple fact is that in war people die. No matter what we do or how we do it, we lose people along the path to peace. The Precepts say that when the bombs fell the old world perished. I think that perhaps, enough of it survived that it can be rebuilt. A fresh chance to create a new nation. There were other nations across the oceans to the east and west of us, you know?" Drew shook his head. Rhys nodded.

"Indeed. For instance, there was a nation known as England that once held an empire that spanned the world. This nation, America, was once a group of colonies until they rebelled some five-hundred years ago. For a while, relations were bitter, but eventually we resolved our differences, and our nations became great allies. Nor were they the only ones. The European nations of France, Germany, Spain, Luxumborg, Belgium, Poland, and dozens of others were also our allies. At least... until the Great War royally fucked everything up."

"Sometimes I wonder, are there others like us over there? Trying to rebuild their nations from the ashes of the old world? Are there people, trying to form new governments? Part of me wishes we could be able to sail the ocean to seek out these new nations but... the other part of me is scared of what we'd find..." Drew glanced at him.

"Finding what?"

"Drew, some people out there... they make the leader of the Wolf Skull Marauders seem like a saint. There are warlords up north in the ruins of Montana, the Dakotas, Michigan, who will capture you, torture you for days on end asking you questions you don't know the answers to, they'll make you a slave to serve them and when they're bored with you, they'll execute you in ways both public, and rather inventive." 

"Inventive?" Rhys nodded.

"Yeah, heard about this one guy leads a large gang in the ruins of Chicago, he watched too many gangster vids I guess and started giving nicknames to his crew. For instance a guy called Nicky the Knife, or Boxer the Brick, even Richard the Ripper. But THIS guy, you cross him, betray him, or anything that displeases him, he fits you with a pair of cement shoes and tosses you off a bridge." Drew grimaced at that and Rhys made a 'Wait, it gets worse' gesture.

"One of his associates, Carlos the Crusher, got his name for repairing an old car crusher from some junkyard and tossing some poor bastard who shorted him some caps into it and turning it on. They say people clear on the other side of the city could hear the guy's screams."

"How do you know all this?" Rhys chuckled.

"Louisiana isn't the first state I've been in kid. A bunch of us here started out west but came east to get away from the NCR. That's the New California Republic. I know they mean well but... if you have something they want, they'll get it from you by hook or by crook. When talking and greed fails, they use force. Shit, just a few years ago, they were deadlocked at the Hoover Dam just outside New Vegas with a group called Caesar's Legion. If it hadn't been for some Courier turned Hero, the NCR would have lost the Dam AND Vegas in the Second Battle of Hoover Dam." Drew whistled appreciatively.

"Where is he now? We could sure use a guy like him." Rhys shrugged.

"No one knows. Rumors abound though. The most popular NCR rumor is that he went back west at General Oliver's request to become the first of the next generation of NCR Elite Rangers. Another is that he went north to Zion to aid the New Canaanites to re-establish their settlement and recapture Salt Lake City from the warlords and tribals there. Hell, some say he couldn't wait for the Legion to die on it's own without Caesar or the Legate to lead them and went east into Arizona to finish what he started."

"Another, although not well believed rumor, is that he went south into Mexico after some guy named Ulysses. Something about making amends. No one really knows what's happened to him."

Drew nodded and was about to say something else when the light in the cab flashed green and Chief came over the radio.

'Okay, we've reached the drop point. Drew, remember to use your flares to call in air support. I'll be just out of sight, however, before you call me in, make sure they have no missile launchers or anything that can bring me down before you set one off.'

"Copy that Chief, Red Eagle, Izzy, you two ready?" Izzy barked and Red Eagle nodded. Rhys sighed.

"I wish I was going with you but I know that Chief needs me up here in the event you signal for air support. Besides, you two have personal stakes in this and I'm not about to get in the middle of a grudge match." Drew nodded and stepped out as the Vertibird touched down for a moment to drop them off before it rose again and took off into a holding formation.

Once the Vertibird was at a safe altitude, Drew activated the Pipboy and looked at the local map and then showed it to Red Eagle, pointing at a spot on the map.

"This spot should be where our targets are holed up. Between us and them is a battlefield, God knows how many raiders, feral ghouls, and whatever else is out there, and plus, little to no cover. I have power armor so I'll need you to stay behind me as we advance. I'll focus on any enemies charging us, you deal with any trying to flank us."

A loud anguished roar pierced the sky before Red Eagle could reply. Seconds later, the radio beeped and he heard Chief's voice through his headset.

'Kid, stop whatever your doing and haul ass up here. You're not going to believe this.'

"What about the Raiders?"

'They got their own problems. As for us, we got ringside seats to the show of the decade. A damn Titano-Crawler just popped out of the ground near dead center of the encampment and is smashing, crushing, and ripping apart anything in its path. Your targets are currently running for one of the few buildings on this hill still standing but the creature's making short work of the Raiders. My advice, get up here and haul ass to the building before the Crawler spots you. You need special weapons to deal with those creatures.'

"What kind of 'special'?"

'Fat Man, Missile Launcher, anything that comes with 'Danger' or 'High Explosive' painted on it. That or energy weapons.' Drew sighed, suddenly wishing he'd gone for the Fat Man, consequences be damned. Still, it was impossible to plan for everything. The Crawler just saved them the trouble of fighting through the Raiders. He looked to Red Eagle and then spotted a path to the right and pointed to it.

"Chief, we found a path here to the right. With a little luck, we'll bypass the Crawler and come up close to where the Targets are."

'Copy that. Well, if that Crawler happens to spot you, give me a head's up so that I can start pissing it off. These machineguns may do some serious damage against human targets, but against a Crawler without any injuries, they're little more than an annoyance.' Drew grimaced, having seen the machineguns in action.

"Hell of an annoyance."

Now that they knew what the noise ahead was, Drew, Red Eagle, and Izzy advanced up the narrow trail as screams, echoes of gunfire, explosions, and the roars, hisses, and growls of the Crawler became louder and louder as they neared the battlefield. As they came closer, Drew eased around a corner and felt his jaw drop as he saw the Crawler.

The Crawler looked like some sort of serpent. It was easily three times as long than most people were tall. It had two spindly legs that came out from its back a little ways down from the head, giving it room to turn, twist, bite and snap. It's scales were grey, brown, and black in color with the tail being solid black. The body was the same diameter as a barrel. It seemed aware of what it was doing as it attacked the Raiders with ruthless cunning and brute strength.

Drew watched one Raider try to come up behind it, but the creature lifted a section of it's body and brought it down on the man with a heavy, bone-breaking 'thud'. Then, it seemed to balance itself on one of it's legs, using it's serpentine body for balance, and raked its arm across the small group gathered around it. What happened next made Drew pale as well as suddenly feel sick.

The Crawler had one target before it, the rest were running from it. The Raider lifted his weapon and emptied the clip into its face. To no avail. The Crawler eyed the Raider with its brown and ornage eyes, then suddenly snapped its head forward, fangs impaling the man as he suddenly started screaming in agony.

The Crawler then lifted its head, and Drew watched as it swallowed the Raider whole and alive. He felt the urge to retch but remained silent as the Crawler looked about for more prey. Then, losing interest in the area, it took off after those who were still fleeing from it. Drew breathed deeply for a few moments until he heard the radio come alive with a seemingly too loud Chief.

'Kid! Kid, you alright?!' Drew took a few steadying breaths and then keyed the radio.

"Yeah... I'm here... Did you see that?"

'Yeah, I saw it. Damn sure wish I hadn't though. Helluva way to die that, almost makes getting ripped apart by Deathclaws look like a mercy. Still though, better it happen to a Raider than to anyone we know. Looks like the path is clear now. Crawlers don't like having their prey run from them. It'll pursue them until they're all dead then return here to see if it left anything. I'd suggest you get in and out before that happens.'

"Copy that. Guess I'll go knock."

'To Hell with that, you've got a Flamer, for cryin' out loud, burn the rats out of their holes!' Drew took another breath and nodded.

Walking towards the building, he turned on the flow to the Flamer and hefted the wand upwards and pulled both triggers. The wave of heat from the weapon damn near sucked the breath from him and he was sure that, if he hadn't been in a suit of Power Armor, would have singed his eyebrows. The internal temperate of the armor read the flames to be an incredible 927 degrees Fahrenheit.

Against a wood and brick structure, it was no contest.

The building caught fire somewhere around the second floor. Almost immediately, cries of alarm began spreading throughout the structure. Using his shotgun, Red Eagle went up to the door and fired a round through the door before kicking it open, revealing a raider who had been on the other side.

Inside, the group went forward down a hallway, checking the rooms as they went for any raiders hiding in them. They encountered their first targets in the stairs leading up. Drew heard a small metallic 'ping' and pulled Red Eagle and Izzy both back moments before a grenade detonated where they had been standing.

The raiders, thinking their trap had worked, climbed down the stairs, prepared to finish them off. They came face to face with the buisness end of Red Eagle's shotgun, Drew's Flamer, and Izzy's fangs. The stairs clear, they continued upward, disarming two more grenade traps and a shotgun trap near the door to the second floor. The group came up to a door at the end of the hall. Red Eagle and Izzy were behind Drew, his armor extra insurance that no ambush would reach them.

Drew stopped, his hand a few inches short of the door handle and then motioned for Red Eagle to pull the pin on one of the frag grenades they had recovered from the earlier traps. Smiling, Red Eagle pulled the pin on one grenade, eased to the opposite side of the door, then, as Drew opened it just enough to see shadows on the opposite side, he gave a slight sideways toss into the room.

The reaction was instant; and priceless.

"GRENADE!"

"Oh FUCK!"

"TAKE COVER!"

The grenade went off, the explosion actually throwing a piece of metal that punched a hole through the door where Red Eagle's hand had been moments before. Drew then used his elbow (and the amplified servos within) to knock the door open and quickly bring his weapon to bear.

There apparently been three raiders in the room. Of them, none of them looked like Chuckles. Red Eagle walked over to a moaning Raider and, after a moment, fired a 00 Buckshot burst point blank into his chest. Then he turned with a satisfied nod and then looked to the other two who were obviously dead.

"I owe you again, Drew, for aiding me in hunting down yet another of my targets. I'm starting to think that maybe travelling with you is the best way to avenge my tribe." Drew nodded as he scanned the room for a hint of some kind.

"You'd be welcome to travel along with us. First however, we need to find Chuckles and deal with HIM first."

At that moment, a dull laugh echoed from outside the building.

"So! The LSM sent some little bugs to hunt me down, eh? After I was so NICE as to return their soldiers to them. With gratitude like THAT who needs enemies? Well, I do hate that Sheldon is gone but then again he was starting to bore me anyway. I wasn't interested in joining his little group and I doubt the Boss would be any more interested. Well, I always say what comes around goes around. You tried to burn me out, so..."

There was a pause...

"...Let 'em have it boys!"

The sound of glass breaking against the building could be heard and when Red Eagle looked out, he ducked back in as both a shotgun blast, followed by a Molotov cocktail slammed against the window frame. Red Eagle looked back to Drew.

"They're fire-bombing the building!"

Drew did some quick thinking and then looked back to Red Eagle.

"How many grenades you got left?"

"Three. You?"

"Four. Listen, take a grenade, pull the pin and let it cook for two seconds and then throw it. They SHOULD detonate in mid-air showering them with shrapnel." Red Eagle nodded and did as he was told and Drew did likewise.

The grenades sailed out the windows on either side of the house and a moment later they exploded in the air, doing exactly what Drew had known they would do. The screams of several raiders heralded their injuries and demise. Shockingly, he actually heard LAUGHTER from outside.

"Clever! VERY clever indeed! Jack was right about you. You're not man to give up easily. You know? He's had a burr up his ass ever since you shot his arm off. Just for the show, I'll give you a little info. You hurt Jack more than he lets on and he's been relaying orders through his lieutenant, Slate. No one, not even I, have seen him since he returned from that raid on your hometown. Now then, I bid you adieu."

Drew had listened but at the same time tried to figure out where Chuckles' voice had been coming from. He managed to figure out it was from the north side of the building and broke out the window there just in time to see his mark turn around and start walking away, swinging a metal club around like it was a walking stick, laughing as he turned.

He set the Flamer down, drew his .357 and aimed, using his left arm to steady his aim. He pulled the hammer back, and squeezed the trigger. He was rewarded by hearing Chuckles curse as he went down, clutching the hole in his leg.

He wasn't laughing now...

"You sonuvabitch! You piece of Brahmin shit! I practically GIVE you Slate on a silver platter and you shoot me in the fuckin' leg?!" Drew rose from his crouch and spoke.

"Yeah, well. I know WHY you did it. You Raiders are all the same. You would rather be the top dog than be someone's bitch. The only way for someone like you to make it to the top is to kill the guys above you. If this Slate is as close to Jack as you say, then that means that it's quite possible that Jack unable to lead the Marauders anymore and HE is the leader of the Marauders now, correct?"

Chuckles said nothing, instead, he struggled to tie a bandage around his leg and rise again. Drew responded by shooting him in the other leg, making Chuckles launch into another tirade.

"The General made me think you were a hard man to kill. Some hardass who can kill anyone who stands against you. Now I see the truth. You're an opportunist. You kill whoever you can and then you make their end worth remembering." Drew leveled his revolver and then heard a familiar roar coming up the hill.

"Slate will have his day, and so will Jack if he still lives. But today, YOU are my target. To be honest I feel kinda sorry... for the Crawler... It's a predator that hunts whatever it can catch and prefers live prey. I guess that means you but I loathe making a creature sick. Then again, you poison the Crawler, it dies, area is safer for people. It just needs a little enticement..."

Drew fired two more rounds into Chuckles, one in the arm and the other in the abdomen, making him start yelling in pain. Just as the Crawler appeared, Drew fired the flare for Chief to come pick them up. The Vertibird was there just as the Crawler reached Chuckles.

The raider's screams were VERY audible as the Crawler made short work of him and as Drew, Red Eagle, and Izzy flew back to the fort, they gazed back and saw the Crawler moving away sluggishly.

Drew turned to Rhys and then keyed his radio.

"Chief, we have the name of another raider. Name's Slate. Supposedly, he's been giving orders in Smilin' Jack's place. Name ring any bells?"

'Only fellow named Slate I know is some punk who took over the Magnolia Steelworks near Coldwater a few weeks ago. They are a small gang, like the Texas Street Hunters in Natchitoches, hardly worth the LSM's time to eliminate them. Plus, they provide 'protection' to the settlement. At least whenever the LSM is nowhere near.'

"I take it then that Coldwater is our next target?" Drew was about to nod when the radio came on.

'Hello? Is anyone there? This is Bootlegger Outpost Thirteen near Ajax. This is a general distress. We have lost contact with Transport Sixteen. Crew is confirmed as Emily Coleson, Driver; Macy Coleson, Gunner; and Edward Rivers, Gunner/Engineer. We have requested assistance from the Copperhead Mercenary Company but they haven't responded. We are now requesting assistance from the LSM or any other Companies in the area. Please respond."

Drew looked up as he heard that.

"Did I hear that right? Macy and Emily in trouble?"

'You heard it right Kid. As soon as we collect Sarge and Jenkins, it'll be up to you. Do we respond?' The response from Drew was automatic.

"Hell yes."


	17. A Light In The Darkness

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 16: A Light In The Darkness

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Date: April 23, 2285

Location: Somewhere Above I49

Time: 1120 hours (11:20 AM)

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Drew had never once considered shooting anyone on his team. But the way Jenkins continued to grouse about having to eat both breakfast AND lunch while in the Vertibird was starting to wear on his already frayed nerves. After preparing her MRE for her, Izzy ate hers without complaint and now sat next to Drew with her head in his lap. Clearly she sensed his agitation but she also sensed the underlying worry and fear.

Sarge and Rhys ate their MREs as well. Chief held off until they had landed at the Bootlegger Outpost.

He glanced out the window of the closed door and watched as the ground flew by and wished he could have brought his power armor with them but, unfortunately, since the mission was a general distress and was outside the LSM's jurisdiction, Weathers had asked Drew to temporarily surrender his armor and any gear with LSM markings.

That left him with the Armored Vault jumpsuit he had worn before signing on with the LSM as an independant, his .357 Magnum, the scoped rifle that he had salvaged from that sniper so long ago, and the 10mm automatic pistol the priest had given him.

As a point, Drew had made sure to equip a suppressor to the 10mm and then overhaul the sniper rifle with a more powerful scope, a flash hider, improved recoil buffer and some extra pads on the stock. Rhys was the only one in power armor as his was not marked with LSM emblems, it just used spare LSM parts.

Still, he couldn't help but shake the worry. He had a bad feeling that the Copperhead Mercenaries were behind this again. Just like before with the hostage situation in Campti. There was something larger at work here, he could feel it; but without solid proof there was no possible way to prove it. He was interupted by the radio coming on.

'Attention unknown Vertibird, this is Bootlegger Outpost Thirteen. Please state your affiliation.' Drew got up and went to the seat beside Chief and keyed the radio, remembering what Weathers told him to say,

"This is Drew Durr, I'm an independant freelancer. I recieved the distress call you made about Emily and Macy and am coming to render assistance. They are old childhood friends of mine."

'Understood. Please land at the old gas station. A vehicle will be there to bring you to the outpost.'

"Thanks. Over and out." Drew turned to Chief.

"Chief, could you and Rhys stay with the Vertibird? I have a feeling I'm going to need Izzy for this one as well as Sarge and Jenkins." Chief nodded.

"No problem kid, besides, I'll need a mechanic's help. I think I've been hearing a knock in the starboard engine since around Allen earlier. Better safe than sorry."

Drew nodded, both anxious for the search but also apprehensive that Chief heard a knock in one of the engines and failed to tell anyone else about it until now. Then again, if he HAD been worried it was a severe problem, he would have put it down then and there.

Looking out the window, he saw the engines slowly pitch up into a vertical angle as Chief brought the aircraft in for a landing. It was a little rough but then again it usually was. Stepping out, Drew immediately saw WHY the Vertibird had been asked to land here.

The Outpost was built on the overpass and stretched down the on and offramps to the Interstate below where it formed a huge circle. The simple gate would not have been enough to stop a speeding vehicle but the machineguns lining both sides of the overpass sure would have. Add to that, the Outpost had I beams that were embedded in the pavement holding a 'roof' over their heads making it impossible to have landed there in the first place.

The roof, upon closer inspection, turned out to have once been the fuselage of a passenger jet that must have crashed somewhere nearby long ago. Drew could vaguely see TransGulf 11 on the rusted red, white, and blue aluminum.

The gas station that they landed at was a parking lot of sorts for all manner of vehicles and aircraft. Gazing about, Drew's heart suddenly leapt into his throat. There, sitting near a pile of wrecked vehicles, was Emily's Transport.

The vehicle looked to have gone through one hell of a firefight. There were bullet holes and dents of various calibers all over the hull. The area where Emily would have been was ripped open as if someone had taken a cutting torch and some sort of pnumatic machine to pry it open.

The turret was gone, the machinegun within ruined with the feed cover broken off and the barrel bent at a forty-five degree angle. The rear gun was in worse shape having seemingly been crushed flat along with the rear of the vehicle. All four tires had also been shot out and the door was ripped off.

Gazing inside, Drew saw enough blood in the back to be worried and also saw shell casings he recognized from Macy's shotgun and Emily's sidearm.

He became aware of someone approaching when he heard tires on the gravel behind him and then heard a door shut. He turned to see a tall middle-aged man wearing the Bootlegger 'uniform', jeans, shirt, bandana, and a duster step out of the old police cruiser and walk towards him.

"Helluva mess huh? We found it a few hours ago. Don't worry, as far as we know Emily and Macy are still alive but same can't be said for poor Ed. That's all his blood you see in the back. Poor bastard was crushed between his gun and the cargo bay when they went off the road. He was alive till whoever entered the transport and subdued Macy and Emily finished him off. Name's Mitch, I'm the Overseer of the Outpost." Drew nodded and shook the offered hand.

"So, what can you tell me?" Mitch folded his arms and grimaced as he looked over the vehicle again.

"Emily was making a run for us up to Shreveport at the Copperhead Company's request. Standard fare: bullets, weapons, materials, medicine, things of that nature. Radioed in she had reached Forbing, just outside Shreveport, when a charge blew a hole in the road in front of her and machineguns opened up."

"She threw the Transport into reverse and started speeding away when another charge blasted a hole in the road behind her. She swerved to avoid the hole and went off the road, crushing the rear section and also destroying the rear axle. She gave one more signal before her radio was knocked out."

"Judging from the damage the sisters put up one helluva fight but in the end they were subdued by what looks to have been a flashbang grenade. Now if it's raiders, they either came from Stonewall or from the Complex. Personally, my caps are on the latter." Drew looked to him.

"The Complex?" Mitch nodded.

"Used to be the Willis Knighton-Piermont Hospital Complex back before the bombs fell. Was considered one of the best, and biggest, medical centers in the state. Nowadays, raiders who call the place home call it the Complex. It's a literal fortress which is why the Copperheads haven't ever tried to take it down." Mitch caught Drew's expression that said 'Why the hell not?' and explained.

"All the buildings, all thirteen of them, are connected by above and underground walkways and car tunnels. The walkways, I'm sure, are clear as the Raiders use them but the car tunnels are said to be crawling with feral ghouls. Since the lower tunnels and most of the buildings ground level entrances are sealed, that leaves entry through one point. The main hospital." He grimaced angrily.

"The Complex sits almost right on top of the I49 and I20 intersection. Copperheads expect tolls through the roof for us to send our vehicles through their 'protection' territory then east to the Second Amendment. If we could clear it out, well, we'd be able to bypass the Copperheads main area and proceed without paying their 'tolls'."

"But you're not sure as to where they were taken. It could be the Complex, or you said Stonewall."

"Yeah but I don't think that's the case. Word has it the Copperheads launched a raid against the group up in Stonewall several days ago. If the reports are to be believed, they were all wiped out. Damned pyros." Drew gazed at Mitch with a glint in his eye.

"You have no proof they were taken to either Stonewall or the Complex yet you want us to storm the Complex? I thought you said the place was a fortress? Plus, it's INSIDE Copperhead Territory, aren't there rules for situations like this?"

"It is. There are. But one thing I dislike more than anything it's leaving good people at the hands of the raiders. Emily is one of our best light runners. Her sister made a name as one helluva gunner, I'm not in the buisness of abandoning my friends. Looks like you're not either. I'm also not a fan of red tape."

"Don't worry, you'll hardly be alone. Turns out the French Guard lost a few of their men to the raiders there as well. They sent a group up here led by some guy they call Jackhammer. Don't know him other than the fact he carries a gun that makes my shoulder hurt just looking at it." Drew remembered the man and nodded.

"Jaques Cyriaque; I know him. So, the French Guard is here? How many?" Mitch shrugged.

"Oh, perhaps a few dozen or so. All of them answer to the Jackhammer though. They call themselves the Eleventh Group. From what I've heard, they deal with raiders that no other group can confront and they are subtle about it. If all goes well, you should be in and out before the Copperheads even know you're there." Drew gave a sceptical glance and then sighed.

"I thought the Companies all worked together to try and PREVENT this kind of thing from happening..." Mitch, instead of being offended, chuckled and shook his head.

"That's what it says on paper kid. Truth is, the LSM just doesn't want to get in anyone's way as long as we're doing them and the state government a favor. As long as no LSM assets are lost or destroyed in the action they could care less what the Companies do. Hell, if the Copperheads wanted to they could launch an attack right here and now, sealing off their territory... well maybe not launch an attck but they COULD seal their routes off and isolate themselves and the LSM won't do shit."

Drew gave him a curious expression to which Mitch nodded and replied without prompting.

"Lots of bad blood between the Copperheads and the other Companies. Not surprising given the scuffles that occured back when the LSM was just getting started. The Copperheads cooperate with us because they know they don't have the numbers to threaten ALL the Companies plus the LSM. It would be suicide. Still, they change leaders about as often as I change socks."

"It's practically a free-for-all at the head of the Company. You make one slip-up, say one thing out of line, and your ass is grass and the other mercs'll mow you down and replace you with someone who's partial to their way of thinking without hesitation. I believe their current record for suplanted leaders is six in one week while the current leader holds the honor of having the longest tenure." Drew thought this curious and asked Mitch.

"How long has the new leader been in charge?" Mitch gave a laugh and then thought back.

"Oh... about eight weeks or so. Funny thing is that since he came in charge, the Copperheads have been raking in the caps yet, for some reason they've been skirting their jobs. Things like escort duty, clearing old ruins, routing out raider groups, things of that nature they stopped doing for some reason. Rumors are that they found a settlement out west in Texas and are working with them but that's just hogwash. The border literally burns with radiation. It'd take a mighty powerful miracle to survive there for more than ten minutes. Only clear place to come through is around Toledo Bend near what was once called Logansport but that's DEEP in feral ghoul territory." Mitch took a moment to rub his eyes before continuing.

"More likely they found someone in the outskirts up north of the state or managed to get a hold of someone in Arkansas and started leasing jobs for them. We've been hearing that someone set up shop in the old prison near Plain Dealing but again it's only rumors and no one is bothering to check it out because it's past Copperhead Territory and inside the Oiler's turf."

"Oilers?"

"Yep, buncha raiders from Oil City. They hold a crossing over the Red River that the boys in the Red River Guard have never been able to secure because of the Copperheads. Shreveport straddles the river and they have NEVER allowed the Guard any further north than Trainwreck. In case you're wondering, Trainwreck got the name because a large train of some sort derailed on the bridge just outside Coushatta when the bombs fell. Copperheads gutted the train, tossed what they didn't think useful into the river and turned the train and cars into a settlement."

"Word is they also got some kinda makeshift fort they're working on as a 'border' to keep any 'accidental' patrols from going any further north. The LSM don't like it but then again the Copperheads don't give damn what the LSM likes or dislikes." Drew whistled.

"Doesn't sound too smart to me, having such an attitude towards the LSM." Mitch shrugged.

"Well, what can I say? You just discovered the reason that the Copperheads are both the least liked Company in the LSM as well as the Company that fewer than seven LSM-requested jobs land in their laps per year. In case you're wondering, the Greycoats and French Guard are tied for that number with each Company getting an average of thirty-six per year each." Drew whistled and Mitch nodded.

"The LSM pays a small fortune for every job completed, that's what keeps them in good graces with other, more erratic Companies like the Rattlers and some small ten or fifteen man independant groups. Once you get enough of a name you might start getting more jobs yourselves."

Drew said nothing as his group and Mitch boarded the vehicle and started down the old decaying road to the Outpost.

As they reached the Outpost, Drew was amazed that the outside view did little justice for the inside. Though domed in aluminum from a downed airliner, what was under the roof was impressive. Scavanged buses formed housing, offices, stores, even a clinic and jail. Sandbags build up around the barriers formed the base for the machinegun defences. As the vehicle rolled to a stop just outside one of the buses, the doors opened and out stepped Jaques Cyriaque who saw Drew disembark and then walked over to him smiling.

"Drew Durr! Excellent to see you again mon ami. I heard you had become a freelancer and now here you are. Tell me, what brings you so far north?" Drew explained the situation to Jaques and was rewarded by a friendly nod.

"Of course I will assist you. Any friend of your's is a friend of mine. Plus, there is no way in good conscience I can just abandon two beautiful women to the hands of such... vile individuals." Jaques turned to Miles who was now getting out of the vehicle and nodded.

"Mr. Miles, I hope that the vehicles you have prepared for us are ready. My friends are tired of sitting about doing nothing. We are eager to begin the job." Miles nodded.

"Almost. As per our end, all six vehicles are about ready for use. I trust Drew that you will be joining them as well? Or do you plan to use your Vertibird instead?" Drew sighed.

"I'm afraid it's out of the question. When we landed Chief said he heard something knocking in the starboard engine. He won't be flying until he gets it fixed. Jaques, if there's enough room in the convoy, we'll accompany you." Jaques nodded and then his expression turned to shock as he recognized someone speaking with a Bootlegger nearby.

"Priest! What brings you here?" Drew turned to see the man Jaques called out to and was amazed.

There stood a man dressed in pre-war Riot Armor bearing the markings of the Baton Rouge Police SWAT, dressed in a worn, white trenchcoat with a red scarf around his neck and a large crucifix hanging around his neck. The man wore no helmet so Drew was able to see his face. He was a young man, probably no older than he or Jaques, he had short dark brown hair, brown eyes, and the beginnings of a rather impressive beard.

He spotted Jaques, broke into a broad smile and came walking over to him.

"Jaques my old friend, I could ask the same of you. What in the world are you doing this far away from New Reddell? Don't tell me you received word of Deathclaws around these parts." Jaques shook his head and held a hand up.

"Nothing of the sort old friend, although I'd rather have a prayer said for us in the event we DO encounter one. No, we are here because we responded to a distress call. Apparently, some raiders from the Complex have taken some Bootleggers prisoner and we are to rescue them." The man looked at him for a moment.

"The Complex? As in the old Willis Knighton-Piermont Medical Complex? The one supposedly swarming with feral ghouls?" Jaques nodded.

"The same. What about you? What brings you this far from Church Point?" The man smiled and lifted his arm to show a thick, well-worn, leather bound book in his hand.

"I go north to spread the Word and to give hope to those in need of it. I also go to cleanse the sins from the wicked and give mercy to those who need it." At that moment, the man caught a glimpse of Sarge and his expression softened.

"You there sir, if you don't mind my asking, when was the last time you went to confession?" Sarge looked to the man with a strange expression and then looked away. The man sighed and came looked to Drew.

"Your companion, he doesn't speak often?" Drew chuckled.

"Only when he speaks of the pre-war days. Then we can't shut him up." Sarge huffed and turned back to the man.

"It's none of your buisness but the last time I was in a church to do anything other than hunt raiders or take shelter from a windstorm was October 17, 2077. The week before the bombs fell." The man nodded.

"I understand. Well, as I said, I am here to offer hope to those who have need of it and that includes ghouls as well. You need not tell me everything but what weighs heaviest on your heart." Sarge huffed and turned away, a dark expression on his face. Jaques looked indignant but was stopped by the man who shook his head.

"In my experience, those who have the heaviest burdens are the ones who least likely want to reveal them for fear of reliving them. Give him time to think about what he wants and if he returns to ask forgiveness then I shall give it willingly." Drew now looked at the man and noticed the way others acted around him.

"Uh, sir? Jaques called you 'Priest' but, what is your name?"

"My name is James Tomlin, although most call me Priest. I am one of many men of the cloth wandering the Wasteland spreading the mercy and forgiveness of the Lord. If you would like, I have many copies of the scripture and can give you one to read. In these darkest times we must remember that there is always a light at the end if we choose to follow it." Drew took one of the books and stowed it in his pack and nodded to Priest. Jaques then spoke.

"Now then, as I asked before, what brought you here?" Priest actually looked sheepish for a moment.

"I am on the way to Shreveport to spread the word. I am also going there to absolve the sins from the Ferals." THAT got both Drew's and Sarge's undivided attentions. Sarge spoke first.

"Absolve the sins of Feral Ghouls? They'd tear yo to shreds in a minute if you went near them preaching!" Priest nodded.

"I know, which is why it is considered my duty to end their suffering." He reached into his coat and withdrew a large revolver from his right him and showed the handle of an axe on his left hip.

"The Commandments say 'Thou Shalt Not Kill' but sadly in this day and age such Commandments are broke with alarming frequency. The Ferals are no longer sane and as such are no longer able to verbally ask for absolution of their sins. This is where I come in." He caught Sarge's questioning look and clarified.

"I pray daily for forgiveness for my own sins and when I fight against ferals I incapacitate them before ending with a coup de grace. Before I end them however, I pray for them and ask God to forgive them because they cannot ask it for themselves. They may not look human anymore but they still are. Radiation changes many things but it CANNOT change or destroy the human spirit." Sarge coughed and turned away to walk off. Priest nodded slowly and turned back to Drew.

"It's alright. Leave him alone for a while. If he wants confession, he'll come to me. Same for every other man and woman in our group. Don't give me that look Jaques. At first I was concerned about going to Shreveport alone but now that I know that your group is going in there, I'll be going with you. Consider it... 'morale support'. I mean, seriously, going into a den of raiders, what could be luckier than having a man of God right behind you?" Jaques chuckled and half turned before turning back, a large grin on his face.

"I can think of a few things luckier than a Priest." Priest laughed.

"But how many of them immediately come to mind?"

As Drew watched the two go back and forth, he saw Mitch approach and cough to get their attention.

"The vehicles and supplies are ready. Please make your way to the offramp." Jaques nodded and clapped a hand on Drew's shoulder and nodded.

"Come now my friend! We are Northward bound to the Complex and to the rescue!"


	18. Breaching The Complex

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 17: Breaching the Complex

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Date: April 23, 2285

Location: Outside The Complex, Shreveport, Louisiana

Time: 2050 hours (8:50 PM)

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The vehicles had been abandoned just outside the city and the large group had continued into the city on foot. Now, it was just starting to turn dark and Drew and his group was taking cover by an old National Guard truck near an old restaurant. A French Guardsman with a supressed sniper rifle was posted on the engine compartment and was overlooking the Complex's front entrance and speaking to Jaques in broken French. Thankfully, Jaques was able to translate.

"He says he sees six raiders by those wrecks they've piled up there as a barricade. The way they're patrolling is such that, if he was to take them out one at a time, they would know immediately they were under attack."

Drew risked a look and saw a molerat walking nearby and start towards the Complex. The raiders, seeing this, stopped patrolling and watched as the mutated creature came closer. He wondered what they were doing when suddenly the molerat stepped on something unseen and was blown to pieces. Drew grunted and looked to Jaques.

"Well, there's _ONE_ reason no one has tried to wipe these raiders out. If I had to guess, I'd say they probably have a good sixty to eighty foot stretch of road in front of the Complex mined." Jaques nodded slowly.

"Indeed. So, how do we go about getting inside?" Drew looked to Priest and then pointed to a sign nearby.

"If none among us are afraid of a few feral ghouls, I suppose the only choice we have left is the underground tunnels." The sign nearby pointed to an entrance by a building that led down under the structure.

"Likely the entrance is locked or barred so we'll need someone who knows how to pick locks or has a REALLY big battering ram." Jaques chuckled.

"Or a REALLY big rifle. Eh... but my Brigette I'm afraid she is much too loud." Priest looked to the two of them and sighed.

Without preamble, he left the cover, snuck over to the door and started fiddling with the door to see if it was booby-trapped or locked. Drew saw him produce a bobby pin and a flathead screwdriver and start to work on the lock. A moment later, the door gave a satisfying _'click'_ and Priest opened the door without incident. As they converged on the door Drew took a moment to gaze at Priest's handiwork.

"I didn't know holy men knew how to do that." Priest chuckled.

"I was not _always_ a man of the cloth, for your information. I was once a scavenger, a looter, and a thief. It was during a failed robbery that I was nearly killed and after escaping and getting patched up by the priests at Church Point, I devoted my life to spreading the Word. Although... there _IS_ a verse that says He will come 'like a thief in the night' to gather the Faithful." Priest then chuckled.

"I may not steal anymore but I'd hate to think I honed these skills of mine for nothing. Idle hands and all that. Besides, I figure, if I do these things in the name of the Lord, I am using the gifts he gave me and in that sense, I serve Him and his Cause." Drew, admittedly, was impressed by his reasoning and nodded.

"So, these tunnels are full of ghouls?" Jaques nodded.

"Indeed. It is also likely that, of all the buildings the Complex is made of, the Raiders have only cleared one to use as their base, the others are likely still home to ferals." Drew gazed at the hospital one last time before going into the tunnel. He wondered, just what were the people who were patients and staff in the hospital doing when the bombs fell.

He quickly shook the thought from his head and continued on, bringing up the rear with Sarge, Izzy, and Jaques while Priest took the lead.

The tunnel was dark. A mixture of standard white lights and red emergency lights flickered on and off. Sparks from exposed wiring leapt from breaks in the wall. The rusted remains of vehicles were everywhere. The group moved slowly, quietly, warily, as if behind each wreck lurked the former passengers of these vehicles.

After a moment, someone glanced down and saw a laser tripwire. The tunnels may be filled with ghouls, but there were also traps set by the raiders. But for what purpose?

Either to keep people out of their 'fortress'. Or keep the ghouls down below.

Advancing down, they were now even more on edge looking for both feral ghouls _AND_ traps.

There was a hiss from behind a vehicle, causing one of the Guardsmen to jump, dropping his rifle which, upon striking the ground, went off with a resounding and sharp 'BANG!' that echoed throughout the tunnel. Jaques cursed and swore in whispered tones that if any ghouls heard that he would PERSONALLY castrate the careless man.

Well, from the sounds coming from deeper inside the tunnel, Jaques might have had to act on that threat.

From the shadows materialized several gangly figures. Snarling, hissing, growling, some even outright screaming.

Several ghouls shambled forth out of the darkness. A few even surprised the group by climbing out of vehicles that they had already walked past. Drew heard Priest mutter something before drawing his sidearm and turning to the others.

"Stand fast everyone! We walk with the Lord!" He leveled his sidearm and fired at the closest ghoul, blowing its head off. This shot seemingly spurred the ghouls to action and they started charging at the mercenaries.

Drew, forgoing his rifle, leveled the automatic pistol and fired into a group of ghouls. The bullets did the job, but the high rate of fire emptied the magazine rather quickly, forcing Drew to run through his remaining ammunition just as quickly.

A French Guardsman, seeing Drew's plight, unslung the small Pipe SMG from his back and tossed it and the ammo belt with it to him. Drew caught it and looked back at the man to see him blasting away at the ghouls with a large-bore shotgun.

The Pipe SMG felt odd to Drew, having never actually used a weapon that most considered a last resort. The weapon was made from a short length of threaded pipe, the foregrip was a hastily carved chunk of wood, the main grip was a single piece of wire, wrapped in duct tape, the stock _(if you could_ _ **honestly**_ _call it that)_ was a simple twisted piece of wire (likely an old wire hangar) with no cushioning, no support, and made the weapon slightly unwieldy.

Still, Drew never looked a gift horse in the mouth.

Armed with this odd but effective automatic weapon, Drew managed to stand with the French Guardsmen, Jaques, his team and Priest as they fought their way through the ghouls.

Suddenly, a slight beeping noice was heard through the den of gunfire. Drew spared a glance over to the side and saw a series of flashing red lights coming out of the darkness. He watched as a horribly disfigured ghoul shambled out of the darkness.

What horrified Drew was not the ghoul's appearance (though it **certainly** added tossed fuel on the fire). The fear was reserved for the seven frag grenades the ghoul had rigged to a 'collar' on its neck and the ten mines that were chained to a 'belt' around its waist.

He leveled the weapon at the ghoul and squeezed the tripper, only to hear a sickening 'click'. He gazed down and saw that one, the clip was empty, and two, the last round had created a 'stovepipe' jam in the weapon.

Seeing Drew's weapon malfunction, the ghouls started forward at a faster shamble than before. Hurriedly, Drew pulled his revolver free and started firing at the ghoul. At the same time, he raised his voice and yelled to the others.

"It's a trap! Fall back!" Jaques and Priest turned to see the boobytrapped ghoul advancing and both of them turned white as chalk and trained their weapons at the incoming threat.

They held their fire though, seeing as the ghouls was close enough that, if it detonated, the blast would likely injure Drew and a few others. The ghouls started closing in on the other side, trying to block them off from the exit. Jaques grimaced.

"To Hell with trying to sneak. Carson! Let the Good Times Roll!" At that moment, Drew saw one of the French Guardsmen with them crack a broad smile and drop the magazine from his weapon and grab a drum magazine from his back and load it.

However, the drum magazine this one was loaded with had a red and blue band painted on it. Carson turned to the group blocking the exit smiled broadly and opened fire.

The report of an explosion was the last thing Drew expected as the rounds were fired into the group, blasting ghouls apart and showering the Guardsmen with radioactive blood. Apparently, the red and blue drum was loaded with special shotgun rounds that acted like miniature grenades.

When the drum fired the last round, Jaques looked to Drew and grabbed his collar and started falling back with the others. The path of retreat cleared, Drew leveled his revolver and fired the last round at the ghoul, striking one of the grenades around its neck, detonating the entire collar which, in turn, set off the mine belt.

A fireball expanded outwards, enveloping the other ferals. The group broke into a run and dove through the opening to the street above just as the fireball reached the disarmed traps, catching and exploding them as well.

The sound of gunfire got their attention and Drew, Jaques, and Priest turned to see the French Guardsmen and Sarge exchanging fire with the raiders at the front. Drew turned to Jaques and Priest and shrugged.

"So much for a quiet entrance..."

Jaques got up, dusted himself off and readied his Deathclaw Rifle and fired a few rounds at the emplacements. Drew bit back a smile as the raiders, apparently unused to a cannon being fired at them, dove for the deck.

A yell got his attention and he looked up just in time to see Carson, the man who had gotten them out of the tunnels, drop his shotgun and fall to the ground, dead, as a sniper's bullet shattered the reciever and the man's sternum. Drew set aside the SMG and unslung his rifle and, once he scanned the fortifications, spotted the sniper and fired a round.

His aim was spot on and the raider the crosshairs were sighted on dropped from his spot with his head missing. Drew shifted aim, took sight of another raider and gave a repeat performance. The French Guardsmen, angered by the loss of two of their own (another had caught a round while trying to help a wounded comrade), cheered him while they fitted long bayonets to their rifles and prepared to charge the fortifications.

"What the hell are you guys doing? Remember the damn minefield?" The men looked to him and froze, suddenly remembering and then looking to Jaques. Drew looked to him as well and saw him hefting a length of something resembling rope.

Jaques attached something to his rifle, ran a length of rope through it, and then loaded one round into the chamber, and fired.

The device was actually a spear of sorts that carried the line with it as it flew and struck the barricade. The rope landed in the minefield and Drew saw a thin wire leading back to Jaques who was smiling maniacally.

"Found this in an old Army munitions storage facility. Apparently it only expired a few months ago but we should still get a pretty nice pop." Sarge looked to him then eyed the rope and went wide-eyed.

"That's detcord! It's high explosive!" Jaques nodded and attached the wire to an improvised trigger and sent a charge through it.

The detcord didn't 'pop' so much as exploded, setting off chain reactions as the mines were caught in the explosions as well. The pavement heaved as the mines exploded, sending debris everywhere. Drew took cover behind an old wreck while the debris storm subsided.

Without warning, the wind picked up. The sky seemed to change colors. Drew looked up and saw lightning flash just as his Pipboy's Geiger counter started ticking. Jaques looked to him and paled.

"Radiation storm! That's it, everyone inside the Complex!" Everyone rose and ran for the front door.

As they passed the minefield and the destroyed barricade, the lightning started getting worse, the wind picked up more, and rain began to fall, making the jumping of the counter even worse.

As Drew and the others got inside, more rain fell and lightning flashed. For better or worse, they were trapped in the Complex until the storm subsided.

Now all they had to do was fight through the raiders to reach the sisters...


	19. Is There A Doctor In The House?

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 18: Is There A Doctor In The House?

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Date: April 23, 2285

Location: The Complex, Shreveport, Louisiana

Time: 2150 hours (9:50 PM)

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By some miracle, or something else entirely, there was no raider presence at the main door of the Complex other than the six that they had killed outside. Lighting and thunder rolled outside and rain fell in thick sheets. It wasn't a particularly severe radiation storm but, as the old saying goes, 'too much of _anything_ is bad'.

The group was at the entrance. Like the rest of Shreveport, there was minimal power. A few intact lights and the group's own flashlights or helmet lamps illuminated the dark hospital. In the lobby, broken pre-war stretchers, wheelchairs, waiting room benches, seats, and other objects were tossed about all over the place.

Old posters asking to _'Give Blood for our Valiant Soldiers'_ , 'Uncle Sam Needs _**YOU**_ ', 'Buy Medical Bonds', and others were plastered along the walls. The once sterile marble floor was irreperably stained with debris, old blood smears where people died. The ceiling had tiles that hung loosely, exposing ventalation ducts, electrical wires, and other equipment.

What got Drew though, was an open door leading to a room where the raiders, apparently when clearing out the space to serve as a fort, shoved the bones of the deceased into the room just to get them out of the way. The jumbled skeletons of sixty men, women, and even children were all tossed haphazardly into the room and lay together in a ghastly heap. The PC at the nurse's station still had some power and, despite the fact he was running out of time, he ejected the holotape out of the system and stowed it to look through later.

As they stopped by the admin's office, Jaques looked to Sarge.

"I trust that you've been here before?" Sarge nodded.

"Yeah. Although it was alot cleaner when I was last here. The building we're in now is the Emergency Department. The first floor is the ER, Trauma Center, and Wound Care Center. Second floor is the OR, Burn Unit, and Radiation Unit. Third floor is the ICU and NICU. Fourth floor was Radiology, and five through eight are patient housing." Sarge placed a hand to his chin for a moment and then looked back to Jaques.

"I also recall there was a sky bridge that led from the third floor of the ER building to the Laboratory and Research Building. That building housed the CDCLA, the Blood Bank, other vital areas." Jaques nodded to him.

"So then, any idea where the raiders would hold hostages?"

"Well, that depends. They could lock them up on the top floor of this building yet, as I said it was mainly residential. However, residential was mainly for patients and families, not a lot of secure locks up there... Then again, there IS the Psych Ward on the Nineth floor. If they're in the other building though, I'd place a bet on the CDC. However, it's basement level." Sarge looked over and saw an old diagram of the Complex and pointed to it.

"To get to the CDC, we'd have to cross over on the skybridge, then go up to the sixth floor of that building to the secure elevator, then ride it down to the basement to access the CDC. However, we'll need the passcodes, keys, and probably complete control of the subsystems down there." Jaques looked to him.

"How? Is there any power left down there?" Sarge nodded.

"The CDC, Center for Disease Control, was built to 'contain and study infectuous diseases, illnesses, and plagues medically known to mankind'. They had to make sure that nothing dangerous could get out of there." Sarge shuddered as he recalled what he knew.

"Everything from the Black Plague, Smallpox, Hemoragic Fever, Cancer, AIDS, HIV, Hepatitis A, B, C, D and E, Anthrax, H1N1, R6G7, Y4U4, and even the FEV is down there. To ensure complete containment, it runs on its own fusion generator. The entire hospital could have been leveled and the CDC would have been intact and still chugging along." Everyone looked to Sarge like he was crazy and then Jaques looked to the directory.

"Okay... just because I _HIGHLY_ doubt that raiders are smart enough to get into a place like the CDC, I say we check the Psych Ward on the top floor. I'd go for that mainly because of that and also I don't like the idea of potentially being exposed to some pre-war virus that there is no longer a cure for." Sarge nodded.

"Seems like a better plan to me, besides, a lack of containment suits would more than quadruple our risk of exposure is anything _IS_ loose down there. However, as you pointed out, the hospital is running on an absolute _**minimum**_ amount of power. Elevators aren't working so we're hoofing it up the stairs and you can bet your ass that they have then entire staircase from basement to roof hotwired with more boobytraps than you can shake a stick at." Jaques nodded.

"That goes without saying. Alright, Mason, Verni, you're our experts on traps, you take the lead. Drew, Priest, Sarge, and I will be in the middle. Edward, Boxer, you will take the rear." He looked down to Izzy.

"Uh... Drew, is she... Is she trained to detect traps or ambushes?" Drew shrugged.

"I don't know if she's trained but she seems to obey her instincts when something's wrong. Izzy's never wrong in that regard." Jaques nodded and then gazed up the flights of stairs.

"Well, we won't find anything out by standing here. Let's get to climbing."

True to prediction, as the group rounded the first corner of the flight of stairs to the second floor Izzy stopped and growled. The pointmen, Mason and Verni, looked up and saw three grenade bouquets hanging above. One was wired to a pressure plate, another to a tripwire, and the third was rigged on the third step by a laser sensor and was also to trigger the other two traps in case they were disarmed.

It was tricky, but the three-step trap was disarmed.

Continueing upwards, the group encountered everything from more grenade bouquets, to trip mines, improvised battering rams, there was even a trap further up that made Sarge blanch.

Stuck to the wall were three blocks of C4 Explosive set to a delayed laser tripwire. The trap was more of a bomb capable of blowing a good part of the north face of the building out. Likely a last ditch 'line in the sand' type trap.

Thankfully, they reached the top floor without incident. However, the whole thing set Drew and the group on edge. If things seemed too easy, chances were that something was about to go horribly wrong. The door at the top floor was locked, rather than breaching the door, a Guardsman with rather deft hands knelt close to the keyhold and inserted a bobby pin and a flathead screwdriver and started to work picking the lock.

It was over quickly as the lock gave a soft 'click' and the man smiled and started to open the door. Izzy suddenly went on alert and Drew caught a glimpse of something move across the hall.

 _"Ambush!"_

One of the men near the lockpicker tried to grab him and pull him back but at that moment several dozen shotgun blasts ripped through the door, blowing holes through Mason and all but amputating his outstretched arm and left leg.

He fell backward screaming as he bled from the stumps where his arm and leg were. His screams were mercifully cut short with another blast through the cracked drywall. In the midst of the lull in the shooting, Drew kicked the remains of the door open and leveled his Pipe SMG at the two raiders trying to fumble rounds from their belts to reload their shotguns and unloaded the entire clip on them, riddling the two with holes.

Drew paused only long enough to reload the weapon as the rest of the Guardsmen came in and ended the other three raiders who, like their fellows, were caught reloading.

As they filed out of the staircase, Jaques spared a glance left and then right and sighed.

"We'll have to split up. Drew, you go right with Izzy, Sarge, Dupree, and Venier. I'll take the left with the others. If you find the ladies first, come to us. Likewise if we find them first we'll come to you." Drew nodded.

" _Bon chance_." This made Jaques smile.

"Not bad, your French is improving. Hah, we'll make a Guardsman out of you yet." Drew smiled.

"No offense but I'm kinda doing my own thing at the moment." Jaques nodded.

"Ah well, maybe once your buisness is complete you will reconsider. Until then, _adieu_."

Jaques' group went down the left hallway and Drew started down the right. Looking to his right and seeing Sarge he couldn't help but ask.

"So Sarge, have you even been here before?" Sarge gazed at him.

"The Complex? Yeah. Had a few broken bones set here, some stints put into the old ticker, heh, I was here when my first child was born... _wait a minute_! You're asking _**ME**_ if I ever did a stint in the Cookoo's Nest, ain't ya?!" Drew couldn't supress a chuckle which made Sarge growl.

"Well the answer to that is ' _NO_ '. All my dogs are still barkin'," Izzy gave him a curious glance that made him stop for a second before continuing.

"Even though I ain't as handsome as I once was. Now, my old man though, whew, talk about him being nuttier than a squirrel." Drew smiled; aware of it or not, Sarge had just walked into that.

"Wonder how much longer it'll be before you start howling at the moon." This got another 'woof' and glance from Izzy but Srage just frowned.

"Keep it up kid and see if I _don't_ turn feral on **you**. Keep. It. Up." Drew chuckled about that and turned back to the buisness at hand.

"Alright so, if you were a raider and wanted to keep two hostages secure on the top floor of the hospital, where would you keep them?" Sarge looked to him with a flat expression.

"Isn't it obvious? They'd keep them at the maximum security area. Padded rooms, straight-jackets, six-point restraints, doors that only open from the outside, somewhere along those lines."

"And that is where, exactly?"

"Told ya kid, I've never been up here before. This is my first time seeing the psych ward here. The maintenence staff has _REALLY_ let the place go."

A pistol shot rang out and took a chunk of the pillar where Sarge was about to step, pelting him with small pieces of concrete. He swung his shotgun around and fired, blasting the raider backwards over the desk. Just as that happened however, the doors to the psych ward slammed shut. Sarge ran for it and fired a round but the metal doors didn't budge. He turned to Drew.

"They're likely going for the girls to kill them, we need to get in there _quickly_." Drew nodded and ran for the terminal on the desk and sighed with relief when he saw that power was still on.

He accessed it, thinking it was a remote access to the door but instead saw a series of entries.

Nursing Staff Entry: Report #1:

 **21 September, 2077:**

Mr. Felix managed to get out again. Poor man. I'll admit, it's sad to see a man like him in a place like this. His family _claims_ he's crazy yet he seems to be as lucid as a priest.

We'd like to just cut him loose and discharge him but the family continually says that he must remain here for 'special care'. What gets me is that the powers that be _AGREE_ with them. Don't know what their game is but if Mr. Felix is truly crazy, I'M the President of the United States.

Report #2:

 **29 September, 2077:**

It happened _AGAIN_. Mr. Felix got out again and was found trying to sneak out of the laundry area. At least we figured out how he did it. He has super-sensative hearing and can detect different tones from the keypads. Just by using the tones, he can figure out the password to the keypad.

Talking to maintenance about getting a newer, silent, keypad installed. I don't mind Mr. Felix getting out since all he does is talk and tell war stories to whoever'll sit and listen for a spell but we DO play host to some individuals who, if they got loose, would be a danger to themselves and others.

Also changing the passcode to 1086654.

Drew spoke the code and Sarge entered it but then a red light came on. He glanced back down to the entries.

Report #3:

 **22 October, 2077:**

Mr. Felix suffered a _major_ heart attack last night and has been transferred to the ICU. He just... woke up screaming that the end was near and that all mankind will burn for their sins. I've seen the family and I can't place what they're feeling... _relief_?

Don't know why, probably best I don't get involved. Still, I wonder if those rumors about him are true? Did he _REALLY_ bury a fortune in gold somewhere near Stonewall?

Report #4:

 **23 October, 2077:**

Changed the code back to 0996471 at Admin's _insistance_. Mr. Felix will not be rejoining us. His ' _family_ ' is in the coroner's office phoning the funeral home to make all the preparations.

I just- wait, the air raid siren's going off. Probably another drill but still protocol demands the patients be brought to the safe area.

They entered the code but again a buzz and the red light blinked. Drew was about to look away when he saw something else. Another entry.

A last entry.

Report #5:

 **24 October, 2077:**

He was right. Don't know _how_ he knew it, but Mr. Felix was right.

Nearly 24 hours ago, the world as we knew it ended. The top floor is shielded from radiation but unfortunately the lower levels of the hospital are not. The vending machines, if we ration, will sustain us for a few days, hopefully long enough for help to arrive but if not... well, I don't want to think about it.

We've stockpiled the supplies in the psych ward and changed the code to 9102377, kinda obvious, I know, but then again, the patients are the least of our worries now...

Drew crossed his fingers and looked to Sarge who entered the code and then slumped with relief momentarily when the red lights turned green and the door unlocked with a mechanical click.

One of the men with them, Dupree, grabbed the left door and Sarge grabbed the right and Drew and Venier leveled their SMGs and entered with Izzy behind them. Almost immediatley, she went on guard and started sniffing around before turning and going down the left hallway.

As they approached the corner, the two raiders who had shut the door came around, shotguns in hand. Izzy leapt at the first, sinking her teeth into the man's right arm causing the shotgun to fire wildly into the ceiling. The second turned his shotgun to Izzy out of instinct and as a result wasn't prepared for the nine SMG rounds from Drew's weapon that peppered him.

Wasting no time, Drew pulled his revolver and held it to the raider's head as Izzy growled, her jaws still latched to his arm.

"Where are they?"

The raider spat at him which made Izzy clamp down harder which in turn made the raider scream. Drew smiled, suddenly getting an idea.

"Not smart. You see, Izzy is a _VERY_ well trained guard dog. That's her way of telling you that's 'strike two'. One more little _'incident'_ and she's going to go for your throat. Are you partial to living? Tell me, would you rather spend the rest of your days living somewhat comfortable in a Guardsman cell? Or rotting up here mourned only by the maggots?"

The man clammed up when suddenly one of the Guardsmen whistled to him pointing to a locked door. The sound of kicking coming from the other side. Drew nodded and rose and then looked to the Raider.

"Stick around for a bit, in case we need more questions answered."

Venier took a post over the raider as Izzy released his arm, wrenched the shotgun from his limp hands and, holding it like a fetching stick, she sauntered over to Drew who gave her a pat and retrieved the shotgun from her. Sarge looked at Izzy then to Drew.

"I've said it before, I'll say it again. That dog is _too_ damn smart. She knows _exactly_ what to do to garner affection from you." Drew chuckled.

"Well, it's affection well deserved. Tell me, what did people Pre-war do with dogs like these?" Sarge looked to Izzy.

"In her case? She has traits that would be good to pass on to the next litter. My advice, find her a suitable male with similar traits, set her up for a while, stuff her with food till she pops, and... guess she's about two, two and a half years old? You should be able to get four or five litters out of her. People in the LSM and settlements would pay REALLY good caps for a dog or two with the kind of traits she exhibits."

"Use her for breeding? That's all?" Sarge shrugged.

"It's what the military did during the war for Alaska. They used warhounds for a variety of purposes. Those that performed their duty well, performed bravely or heroically, or did something notable or showed specific traits were rewarded with several months leave and were bred to other hero dogs to bring their traits into the next generation."

"It's this practice that basically created the genetic markers to identify the perfect warhound." He caught Drew's blank expression and sighed.

"It's no different than breeding two horses that have performed well to produce a foal that'll do even better. You get two horses that do hard work well or that can gallop particularly fast, you breed them to pass them onto the next generation. Besides, there's good money in it. A good sprinter can go for several hundred caps." Sarge gazed down at Izzy who seemed simultaneously oblivious that she was the target of discussion and all the while attentive to what was being said between him and Drew.

"I have little doubt that pups from Izzy's litters, were she to have some and if they exhibit her defensive traits and intelligence, would fetch a hefty sum, pun intended." Izzy gave a small whimper and a groan as if she caught the joke and lay flat on the floor, head resting on her forelegs.

Drew pondered that for a moment then shook his head and walked for the door.

"That's a discussion for another time Sarge. Now then, how the hell do we get this door open?" Sarge shrugged.

"If it was a normal situation, I'd suggest explosives but in this case... hmm... hang on... _There_!" Sarge chuckled as he grabbed a fire axe from the nearby wall and hefted it, a grin spreading across his face.

"Here's Johnnie." Drew looked to him curiously and Sarge shook his head.

"Sorry kid, before your time." Sarge handed the axe to Drew and he walked to the door and banged his fist on it.

"Emmy! Mace! It's me, Drew! You in there?!" The reply was instant.

"Drew! Thank God it's you! Get us out of here!" Drew readied the axe.

"Stand back! I've got a fire axe and I'm gonna try and cut through the door!"

Drew waited a moment, then swung the axe with all his might and felt his insides shake with the reverb as the axe slammed into the door and the steel head bit into the aluminum. After wiggling the head free, he swung again, cutting into the door again and creating a gap big enough he was able to look through the door and his nose nearly curtled at the stench of decomp coming from the other side. Sarge caught a whiff of the smell as well and cursed.

"What the hell are those raiders using that room for? Smells worse than a dead horse in there." Macy came to the hole.

"They use the room to keep captives until they decide what to do with them. I think the raiders here are descendants of the survivors who were trapped in the hospital. They're _cannibals_."

Behind him, he heard Venier curse and then heard a single round go off, indicating the the captured raider had done something which warrented immediate action. Drew was somewhat disgusted by this but then again, he remembered Chuckles and recalled what General Weathers had said he'd done. If this bastard had been thinking of all the ways to harm Emmy and Macy, he'd have shot the bastard himself.

A few more swings managed to get the door dented enough that Drew could see the locking mechanism and then with one solid swing of the axe, he managed to cleave the lock in half and stepped back as Macy all but tackled the door of it's hinges to get her and Emmy out of that awful room. Once Macy and Emmy were out, Drew was surprised as Macy pulled him into a rough embrace.

"I don't know how, but I knew that, come hell or high water, you'd come for us." Drew gave a small smile and nodded before turning back to the others.

"Alright, let's find Jaques and get the hell out of here. Once we do that, we leave Copperhead territory." Macy then looked to Drew with a wide-eyed expression.

"Drew, it was _THEM_. The Copperheads... they were the ones who attacked the vehicle... they captured us and gave us to the raiders here but we overheard one of them speaking." Macy turned to the Guardsmen nearby.

"You men are with the French Guardsmen, right? Is this Jaques one of you?" Venier nodded.

"Yes ma'am. He's one of our lieutenants. What's the matter?"

"The Copperheads... they're planning on bombing the annual meeting of the heads of the LSM and the leaders of the Companies. They're paying special attention to the Greycoats and Second Amendment." Sarge looked to the Guardsmen who were swearing vehemontly and then to Drew.

"If that happens the entire LSM will collapse in on itself. It'll be complete civil war!" Drew shook his head suddenly thinking of something.

"But won't the survivors turn on the Copperheads and destroy them?"

"Possibly. But one thing bothers me. Numerically the Copperheads could match the Greycoats but they don't have good equipment other than their Flamers and other fire-based weapons. They wouldn't be able to take on the whole LSM... something or some _one_ must be pulling the strings." Emmy nodded.

"That's right! I also heard the Copperhead who brought us here talking to someone in a black trenchcoat... I didn't get a name but he called him _Major_. I also heard the name _Justice_." Drew looked to Emmy then to Sarge.

"The only organization that uses ranks is the LSM. Someone who knows intel in the area. Sounds like I'll need to get in contact with Clark again, and quickly. As for Justice, that too has a familiar ring to it." Sarge nodded.

"But first thing's first. Get back to Jaques, then back to the Vertibird, and then make a mad dash for Baton Rouge."


	20. Sometimes, They Come Back

Sorry it's been so long since I updated the story. I regret that the reason for the delay has been purely political. I've been so steamed at several cities (cough New Orleans) and states here in the southern US that want to tear down the monuments erected to Confederate officers such as General Robert E. Lee and General Thomas 'Stonewall' Jackson.

Now, before ya'll say anything, I am steamed because some of those monuments do NOT celebrate slavery or oppression of whatever else you THINK they stand for. They simply stand to remind us of our history and that no nation's history is perfect.

The American Civil War is indeed a stain on our nation's history, but tearing down these statues and plaques doesn't mean it'll be forgotten. It is ingrained into our history, our nation's very fiber. To deny the Civil War existed is to deny and forsake the hundreds of thousands of men who died in that horrible conflict. North AND South.

Plus, people want to tear down monuments of the South? Say that these men did terrible things and should not be remembered? General Robert E. Lee said, before even the first shots were fired at Ft. Sumpter: 'If I had the power within my being, I would free all the slaves if it means avoiding the terrible bloodshed that is to come'.

Plus, there were heroes in the South as well. For instance, there is a statue of a Confederate Corporal in Virginia I believe who risked getting shot by to take water to wounded UNION troops.

Should THAT Confederate monument be torn down as well?

Also, in case ya'll didn't know, most of the officers and men who served in the Confederate and Union armies were veterans of the Second Mexican War in the 1840s. Plus, very few Confederate soldiers actually owned slaves, most were poor farmers who felt that their rights as farmers were being threatened.

If people can elect to tear down historic monuments, then why not tear down other monuments or drag other historic names through the mud? General William Sherman comes to immediate mind when he burned his way down the Atlantic Coast. Or how about General George Custer?

How long will we allow our history to be cut up into pieces all because some people think it stands for something negative?

Removing Civil War monuments is, in my opinion, the same as slapping those who fought in that horrible conflict across the face. It is the ultimate sign of disrespect. Plus, everything that was marked for the Confederacy was reabsorbed into the Union once the South surrendered.

That means that while these monuments may bear 'Confederate States of America', they are in all manner of shape and form AMERICAN monuments and are subject to the same protection as the other monuments like the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial.

I'm sorry ya'll had to hear me vent and I truly am sorry if I offended anyone, but dammit as a man who loves our history, the good AND the bad, I cannot be silent and watch as everything comes crashing down on top of us.

I remember my history teacher once said that 'To forsake our history is to forsake our ancestors and to damage the very foundation upon which our government and our country is built. To remove said pieces of our history is to invite destruction upon ourselves, our principles, and our nation'.

Whew. Glad I got that out of my system. Now then, on to the story.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 19: Sometimes, They Come Back

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Date: April 23, 2285

Location: The Complex, Shreveport, Louisiana

Time: 2344 hours (11:44 PM)

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After recovering from the shock of the revelation of what the Copperheads were planning to do, Drew unceremoniously handed Macy the shotgun Izzy had taken from the dead raider and then drew his 10mm automatic pistol and handed it to Emmy and then turned back to Sarge, Venier, and Dupree and motioned to the door.

"Here's the plan, we find Jaques and his group, then get the hell outta here. We don't have any time to lose."

At that moment, a loud explosion and gunshots echoed from down the hall, grabbing everyone's attention. Venier looked to Drew.

"That explosion was Jaques! I'd recognize the report of that cannon of his _ANYWHERE_!"

"Does he usually use it indoors or at close range?" Venier shook his head.

"No. Only if he's desperate, out of ammo for his other weapons, or just really, _REALLY_ pissed off." Drew nodded.

"Well, let's hope he's just pissed off and not the other two. Macy, Emmy, stay behind us. Izzy and I have point, Sarge stay near Emmy and Macy. Venier on the right, Dupree on the left. Alright, everybody ready? Move out!"

The way back to the main lobby of the floor was clear of raiders and the group quickly made their way down the hallway that Jaques had taken when they had split up. As Drew started forward, another report from Jaques special weapon echoed through the building.

What unnerved Drew was that Jaques' weapon was the only report he was hearing. No other weapons were firing. No pistols, no shotguns, no assault rifles, not even grenades.

"We'd better hurry. I think Jaques may be alone, I don't hear any other weapons." Venier paled.

"Oh hell... you don't think that..." Sarge grunted.

"It's possible. Feral ghouls may not have a brain but they _ARE_ persistant. This is probably the first time gunfire has erupted in the hospital. Any ghouls that the raiders failed to sweep are waking up and any openings they failed to close are prime openings for any starving ghouls and, judging by the sheer numbers we saw down below in the tunnels, it is possible that they've found a way into the building." Drew sighed.

"In short, ghouls may have retaken the building." Sarge nodded.

"That would be my guess. Although I don't know what would be worse, overrun by raider cannibals or feral ghouls." Drew paled.

"As far as I'm concerned, both options are equally horrific. Now that we have a possible idea as to what is going on, let's get to Jaques and then find a way out of here." The group nodded in unison and they advanced towards the echo of gunfire that was growing steadily louder.

As Drew and the others reached a T branch in the hallway, there came a tremendous explosion from the wall in front of them and to their shock and amazement, there stood Jaques, Deathclaw Rifle in hand, wearing what resembled a suit of Power Armor that had been welded and bolted together with whatever metal pieces could be found. Instantly, Drew recalled that some raider groups have had good fortune in finding old frames for Power Armor and simply welding whatever they could find to form armor pieces.

This, apparently, was a work in progress as the suit was missing the left arm, right leg, and the helm. That didn't mean Jaques was exposed however. He caught one glance of the others and visually sighed with relief.

"Let's get the hell out of here, the whole damn building's gone to shit!" Drew looked through the gap in the wall and nodded back to his group.

"Ferals, and lots of them. Jaques, any survivors from your group?" Jaques shook his head sadly.

" _Non_. The ferals, they were on us so fast we didn't realize what was happening they ripped their way through us then ran at the raiders giving what was left of us time to withdraw but no sooner were the raiders dead then the ferals were on us again. I just happened to find a room that a raider was using as a workshop and took the power armor there." Jaques grimaced to the stairs where more growling was heard and then looked to Drew.

"We can't go back down the stairs. We have to go up to the roof. Maybe you can contact that Vertibird you use to pick us up?" Drew checked his Pipboy and nodded.

"If Chief is done with the repairs then yeah, I can get a hold of him. My Pipboy has a built-in radio transmitter." Jaques nodded and looked to his two remaining Guardsmen.

"New objective men, protect Drew Durr at all cost, he's our comms. We lose him, we're dead." The men nodded and formed up around Drew as they had done before and Jaques looked to him.

"So then, what do we do once we reach the roof?"

"Hold it against all attacks until the Vertibird reaches us or we run out of ammo." Jaques grimaced.

"Sorry I asked."

Thankfully, the path to the roof was clear of any threats, although there were a few grenade bouquets and mines which, thanks to Dupree who apparently had a knack for disarming and then rearming explosive traps, were easily bypassed. As they opened the large metal double doors to the roof, Drew found himself gazing at an open helipad with the remains of a medical helicoptor on currently occupying it and several raiders, one in power armor, standing before them. Jaques glanced to Drew and then to his men.

"Drew, you and your friends take cover and try to radio your Vertibird for extraction, we'll be the clean-up crew." The raiders glanced at Drew and the leader smirked.

"Let the one with the comms make his call, when his Vertibird gets here, we'll take it and escape and leave their bodies for the ghouls!" Jaques leveled the deathclaw rifle and smirked.

"You won't live long enough to do that." He pulled the trigger.

The rifle report was loud enough to make Drew's shoulder hurt, remembering that Jaques' rifle was a modified Solothurn. The round went where Jaques was aiming but the raider lifting his weapon, a flamer, to attack position intercepted the round.

The 20mm shell impacted the weapon, shredding the nozzle, the barrel, and also severely damaging the fuel tank which immediately ignited and sprayed burning fuel onto the raider who ran screaming off the side of the building.

The remaining raiders opened fire, a shotgun blast striking Dupree in the chest, killing him instantly. Venier and Jaques were down to their sidearms, taking cover by some of the old ventilation equipment and returning fire when possible. Drew took cover with Sarge and Izzy near a cement platform and he keyed his radio.

"Chief! Chief this is Drew, can you hear me?" There was static at first but then-

 _'Yeah I hear you kid. Check your Pipboy, did you hit a distress beacon?'_ Drew looked down to his Pipboy and indeed did see a flashing red light on the casing.

"Yeah must have hit it in the skirmish, are you en route?"

 _'Affermative, lifted off the second the repairs were complete and we picked up your beacon. What's the situation, I'm hearing gunfire through the radio.'_ Drew knew only one word to describe the current situation.

" _ **FUBAR**_. We're on the roof fighting what raiders are left, ferals have swarmed the building, and Jaques and Venier are the only Guardsmen left alive, the others were all killed. To make matters worse, we've recieved intel that an attack is to occur in Baton Rouge within the week. How soon can you get here?"

 _'ETA is five minutes. Can you hold out that long?'_

A loud bang from the door got Drew's attention and he saw ghouls swarming the door trying to claw their way through the metal.

"Get here in two. Those ghouls look mighty hungry." Drew cut the radio and yelled to Jaques.

"Chief is coming in hot; two minutes!" Jaques gave a nod and turned to repeat the ETA to Venier but just as he opened his mouth, a loud ping was heard and Drew gazed in horror as a small round metal object struck the floor just in front of Venier.

A fragmentation grenade...

Jaques had just enough warning to raise his right arm to shield his face when the small explosive detonated. Venier's body was riddled with pieces of shrapnel and was blown upwards, and over, the side of the roof. Drew heard the raiders laughing and talking about lobbing more grenades at them.

He gave a glance to Macy and Sarge who both nodded and rose, with their shotguns, and Drew with his SMG, and they unleashed a wall of lead on the standing raiders. Drew's rounds peppered an unarmored raider who fell quickly, Sarge's shotgun blast disarmed one raider (literally), and Macy turned one raider into a soprano before the next burst blew his brains into next week.

As Drew and the group fired, a loud whirring noise was heard and the ghouls on the other side of the door redoubled their efforts to break through the metal doors just as the Vertibird rose level with the roof.

Jenkins threw open the side door and motioned for the group to hurry and get on. Drew gave a glance to Jaques who was silent for a moment until a loud explosion was heard from behind them. The metal doors suddenly flew open and there, amid the fallen feral ghouls, was Priest who, despite being bloody, bruised, and beaten, stood like a stone wall and immediately went to Jaques and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Mourn the dead and never forget them but do not cast aside your life for them. There is _STILL_ work for you in this life. God does not accept those who hasten their arrival at his gates." Jaques gave a nod, rose, and turned to Drew.

"Let's get aboard before more ferals show up!"

As Drew and the group leapt aboard the hovering Vertibird, more growls and howls confirmed what Jaques had said about more ferals coming and no sooner were they away and leaving the Complex than the roof was covered in ferals who proceeded to rip apart the corpses of the raiders. As they left, Drew heard the comms come on.

 _'So kid, what was that about Baton Rouge?'_ Drew nodded and relayed everything he had learned to Chief and Jenkins who proceeded to begin a rather colorful procession of swear words.

 _'Baton Rouge is a ways away kid, likely we won't see Natchitoches for a while, do you have any place you want to stop and resupply first?'_ Drew glanced to Macy and Emily.

"We can drop you off at the Outpost if you want. There's no more reason for you two to expose yourself to danger-" Macy cut him off quickly.

"To hell there isn't! These raiders were working with the gang that killed our brother _AND_ destroyed Emmy's vehicle, _AND_ killed her gunner. We're already neck deep in this so we might as well see it through. Besides, this meeting is to be between several high ranking members of not only the Companies but the LSM as well." She then looked to Emmy and smiled.

"Also I want to at least see Baton Rouge _ONCE_ in my life. Might as well be now as ever." Drew nodded and then keyed the comms.

"Chief, set us a direct route to Baton Rouge."


	21. The Meeting

DISCLAIMER:I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 20: The Meeting

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Date: April 26, 2285

Location: Baton Rouge, Louisiana: Capital of the LSM

Time: 0920 hours (9:20 AM)

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The doors to the Vertibird were open as Drew gazed out on the city below him. The capital of Baton Rouge, which was French for ' _Red Stick_ ', had been a large city in the pre-War days. Now though, a good portion of the city was rubble with the exception of the capital building, the LSU campus, and the bridge that spanned the Mississippi River and connected the capital to what had once been Port Allen.

The tallest structure in the city was the Capital building, which had a makeshift wall surrounding it and the buildings nearest to it. The next was Memorial Tower in the LSU campus area. This divided the city into micro settlements that was connected by a cleared out stretch of I-10 and several cleared streets.

As the Vertibird entered the airspace above the city, the radio crackled to life and Drew felt Chief change course.

"Chief, what're you doing?"

 _'SOP kid,_ _ **all**_ _Vertibirds are to land at Port Allen, from there, we have to cross the bridge, then proceed to the Capital building. Based on the security I'm seeing from up here, I'd guess the main commanders of the LSM and the Companies are already here.'_

Indeed as Drew looked down he could see men and women wearing various clothes and armor marked with several insignias. Most predominantly, other than the LSM itself, were the Greycoats. It was actually rather easy to spot the grey-clad mercenaries as they patrolled the streets. In the distance, the old Confederate battle flag flew alongside the Greycoat flag and at the capital building, the pre-War state flag flew alongside the new.

As the aircraft landed, Drew immediately recognized several men and women clad in the clothes and armor of the French Guards. Jaques immediately leapt out and began speaking to them in rapid fire French. A few times one or two of the mercs would glance to Drew but then return their gaze to Jaques.

As he finished explaining, Jaques said something that made them all gasp and then one of the men stepped forward and snapped something sharply to him. Jaques then pointed to Macy and Emily and the man squared his shoulders.

"Ma'am. Jaques here says you discovered a plot by the Copperheads to attack the meeting that is to take place soon, correct?" Macy gave a short nod, the man continued.

"Well then, could you tell me _EXACTLY_ what you heard?" Macy then looked to Emily who came forward.

"Sir, while imprisoned by cannibalistic raiders in the Complex in Shreveport, the raiders were contacted by a member of the Copperheads, he was accompanied by a man known only as ' _Justice_ ' and they were speaking about requiring the aid of several more raiders if their plan for the Capital Gathering was to take place and go off without a hitch." Macy picked up when Emily stopped.

"Furthermore, the raiders told the Copperheads that they were concerned about the sheer volume of explosives the Copperheads had been stealing from raided Second Amendment and Moonshiner Transports." The man nodded.

"Our liasons with both the Second Amendment and the Moonshiners have been confirming a number of lost and presumed destroyed transports and shipments along a both I-49 and the numerous side roads they have been trying to clear." Another spoke up.

"All in an effort to avoid having to pay the tolls to pass through Company and LSM territory, I might add. Damned merchants, always caring more about their bottom lines than the lives of their crews or the civilians they may endanger." The man turned sharply and snarled.

"Enough, Mérné. I am sure that is not the reason, and plus, do not forget that there are two representatives of the Moonshiners right in front of us. Have some damned self-restraint." The women who had spoken looked taken aback but didn't withdraw.

"But Lieutenant Maurtice, you yourself have led several interdictment runs against convoys trying to bypass the checkpoint-" Immediately Jaques frowned.

" _ **Interdictment**_? As in stopping and confiscating goods? Is the Colonel aware of this? Did he give the orders for such runs?"

Maurtice immedately blanched and then muttered several sharp words to Mérné who finally took the hint and backed down. Unfortunately, Drew knew that Macy and Emily had sharp memories and would not hesitate to inform the leadership of the two aforementioned merchant companies.

Maurtice immediately then faced back to Jaques and spoke a few words in French that make Jaques turn red before facing Drew and the others.

"We've no time to waste. I'll deal with _THIS_ jackass later. Right now we have to stop that attack."

"What attack would that be Guardsman?" Jaques turned to see who spoke and immediately snapped to attention and saluted and then turned to Drew.

"Drew Durr, allow me to introduce Major Sara Reede, whom, as you can see, is a member of the Greycoats and is the garrison commander for the Port Allen Corps." Drew stepped forward and saluted as well and then explained the matter to the Major who immediately frowned.

"If you weren't with Jaques I would have a hard time believing that story but if he is certain of it then this is a _VERY_ serious matter, one that must be brought to the attention of General Stone immediately. Now then, walk with me."

The group brushed past the French guard and left Jaques to hash out who got the worse ass chewing and Priest stayed with Izzy; Chief, and Jenkins started checking the Vertibird in case they needed another seat-of-the-pants rescue. As they crossed the bridge to the Capital District, Macy huffed.

"I understand this 'General' is important but just how high is this General Stone on the ladder? I mean isn't there more than one General?" Major Reede gave her an understanding glance and nodded.

"The Greycoats are different from the other Companies and the LSM in that we are led by the Council of Generals, five of the most decisive, fearless, and courageous leaders of the Greycoats. General Stone is a one-star general and is General Beauregard's right-hand."

"General Beauregard in turn is one of the oldest and most veteran of the Generals and the one most likely to believe you at first glance. His word carries a LOT of weight with General Jackson."

As the group crossed the bridge and entered the area outside the Capital District, a low, slow trumpet started playing from somewhere up the ruined street. Sarge heard the first few notes and recognized it immediately.

"That's the Bonnie Blue Flag. Heh, first time in centuries I've heard it but the first time I've heard it played that slow before." Major Reede gave him a nod and took a few steps off the street.

"I'd forgotten about today being what it was. A good friend of mine in the Greycoats, Major Howard Finch, was severely wounded in action while leading an action in Rattler territory to try and retake the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway from a rather nasty group of raiders." Sarge hmm'ed to himself.

"If I recall that correctly, that bridge is dangerously close to the Dead Zone around New Orleans." Reede nodded sadly.

"Thanks to the radiation in the area, the wound got infected and he wavered on the brink, suffering, for three days and nights before finally succumbing to his wounds. I already said my goodbyes to him yesterday. Today is the family's day to grieve." Sarge nodded.

"At least he went down like a hero. Plus, no one became a ghoul being that close to the Dead Zone." Reede nodded again.

"We and the Rattlers threw almost two companies worth of men and materials at that Causeway the raiders have fortified and couldn't make a dent. General Foster says that if we can't take the Causeway the next go around, he's giving us permission to use what Mininukes we've got and blow the whole damn bridge into the next apocolypse." Sarge grimaced.

"Not likely. That bridge underwent MAJOR reconstruction in 2068 to fortify it against any sort of attacks. Plus, if there is even a remote chance of the Dead Zone being penetrated, it will likely be through the Causeway." Reede gave Sarge a glance, judging his words, and then sighed.

"Maybe so, but still. The raiders there have made so much trouble it's getting harder and harder to say with any certainty that anyone _WANTS_ to find out if anything is still in New Orleans. For all we know it's a damn Memphis Excursion just waiting to happen." Drew paled when he heard that.

In the year 2257, elements of the LSM, Red River Guard, Greycoats, and Second Amendment ventured north along the Mississippi River to the small village of Waterproof, Louisiana. Upon reaching the town, they found several intact boats and set out further up the river, their hope was to possibly reach the river port of Memphis, Tennessee in the hopes of possibly establishing a trade route, or possibly expanding the LSM.

The party started off with close to five-hundred men and women. According to survivor statements, they made it as far as the ruins of Helena, Arkansas when a series of raider attacks, super mutant ambushes, feral ghouls, deathclaws, mirelurks, bloodbugs, severe radiation, and sickness began whittling down the number of explorers.

In early December, 2259, fifteen exhausted, sick, and starving survivors in one little boat drifted down the Mississippi and were picked up by a RRG patrol.

After learning of the harrowing experience, the LSM ordered that an LSM garrison would be placed at Waterproof in case anything decided to follow the river down and see what lay further south.

It was rumored that one of the survivors of the Expedition was the Greycoat's very own General Beauregard.

As the group proceeded to the capital building, Drew couldn't help but notice how many buildings were in the process of being rebuilt and inhabited. When he posed the question to Major Reede, she nodded politely.

"Naturally when a civilization begins to pick itself up, it needs room to expand. Currently the Greycoats, French Guard, and the Rattlers are working together to clear some of these old buildings so that the Engineering Corps of the LSM can make sure they are structurally sound and fit for habitation." She pointed to a building nearby that already had a Greycoat flag flying from a balcony.

"That building there is already being claimed as the Greycoats new Baton Rouge Barracks. It'll take some of the strain of defending the capital off the LSM and allow us greater access to contracts as well as a place to send troopers who are starting families to shack up for a while until they can get a place for themselves." She then turned her attention to another building.

"That building there is a work in progress for the LSM. They call it the 'Center for Settlement Affairs'. As soon as they can get the damn radio working right, the Governor has assured the Greycoats and French Guard that so-called 'settlement contracts' will soon be available." Drew glanced curiously.

"What would those entail?" The Major shrugged.

"Beats me. All I know is that there is a lot of land that is still viable, and a lot of people looking to settle their own little plots of land. The gist of it is we go in, clear out whatever hazzards, creatures, or raiders have taken over the place, then we fortify it, set up a radio beacon, and that's that. A brand new settlement for the LSM." She frowned then and sighed.

"However, several obsticles are in the way. First off, Smilin' Jack and his group are much better organized than previously thought possible of raiders."

"With his second in command, Chuckles, dead, thanks for that by the way; and his other lieutenant, Slate, MIA since Chuckles' death, we're FINALLY starting to make some headway against the bastards. They still have several strongholds and bases and still have some 'loose' alliances with other raider gangs but nothing like they once had." Her expression became serious as she lowered her voice so that only Drew and those in the group could hear her.

"A little insider information, until you, Lieutenant Durr, brought the fight to Jack's outfit and killed Chuckles, the LSM, Greycoats, French Guard, and the rest of the Companies have been banging our heads against a brick wall. We take out an officer, wipe out a base, within the month, sometimes within the _WEEK_ , the officer was replaced and the base was rebuilt and fortified against another assault."

"We have long since passed the threshold of 'how many soldiers are we willing to sacrifice to wipe out one outfit or kill one raider'. Some of us were hopeing that eventually the Raiders would turn on one another and that would be that but thanks to Jack and his methods, that never happened." Drew smiled.

"Until I started kicking his outfit's asses from one part of this state to the other." Major Reede smiled and nodded.

"Your arrival is more fortunate than you know. Word of how you bested Chuckles and lit a fire under Jack's ass has reached the highest ears of Government in the LSM." She gave him a glance.

"The Governor, as well as the Council of Generals, want to meet with you. Plus, the meeting isn't to happen for another three hours while we wait for the Copperheads and Rattlers to arrive so you have plenty of time to lay your case out before them."

Drew remained silent as what she said slowly sunk in while Jaques and the rest of the group smiled as they walked to the Capital building together.

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The old elevator gave out a soft 'ding' as it reached the top floor of the building. No sooner did Drew step out then he saw several men and women wearing Greycoat and LSM uniforms, all officers, stop what they were doing to give him a glance. As Major Reede stepped out and gave a slight nod, a young officer in the back of the crowd started clapping. This was picked up by the rest of the soldiers as each and every one of them broke out into smiles and clapped as the group went towards the door with the sign beside it.

COL( _Ret_.) JACOB EDWARD LONG, GOVERNOR

Major Reede opened the door and ushered the group in just as the voices of two men echoed from inside. As soon as they entered, Reede shut the door, saluted the two men, and then politely stood to the side.

In the back of the room was a large mahogany desk. In front of the desk sat an old man with a walking cane and his hands folded on his stomach as he surveyed the group curiously but with intrigue, his blue eyes not wasting a moment to gaze at their faces and, though obscured behind a snow white beard and mustache, a smile became visible. Behind the desk however, sat an older man, who by this time was rising to his feet and approaching the group, a broad smile plastered on his face.

Governor Jacob Long, former Greycoat and leader of the LSM, came forward and clasped Drew's hand in a firm handshake and glanced back to the Greycoat general who remained seated.

"See? I _TOLD_ you he would be arriving soon. You need to start listening to me more Tom." The man Drew now recognized as General Thomas Beauregard of the Gryecoats gave a chuckle and nodded.

"Well if I _had_ listened to you that one time at New Roads, I'd be missing a head now as well as a leg." The Governor dismissed him with a wave of his hand and a smile but returned his gaze to Drew.

"Forgive the suddeness, but I just had to shake the hand of the young man who has done more for the LSM in the past few weeks than any other team has done in the past year." He walked to a nearby cabinet and produced a bottle of whiskey and several glasses and set them down and started pouring.

"So, word has it that you are a freelancer, but would like your own Company, right?" Drew nodded sheepishly. Long just laughed.

"Don't look so surprised. I may be half deaf to gunfire but to whispers and rumors my ears hear all. Well, if you're expecting me to object, don't. To be honest, you're well on your way. You see, you have a unique opportunity before you Lieutenant... sorry, _Major_ Durr."

"Your actions in Natchitoches, the Overpass, Leesville, and 'other' areas have more than warranted your promotion. Plus, your locale places you in an equally unique position." He motioned Drew's attention to a map on the wall as he handed him a glass. He pointed to Natchitoches.

"The city of Natchitoches, the LSM's base and largest stronghold in the area. A garrison of roughly three-thousand soldiers, half of whom are untested, less than one-thousand members of three of the Six Companies, most of whom can't act because of laws my predecessor made that severely limits or outright prohibits their involvement." He turned and slowly walked back to his desk.

"Those soldiers, are supposed to protect a district of the LSM that is just a few gunfights short of the Wild West. There are at least eleven registered settlements with small platoon-sized garrisons, and almost twenty _unregistered_ settlements with nothing but volunteers to defend it. Robeline was one of those unregistered settlements."

"Standing against us, there are elements of at least seven different groups of raiders, all operating out of eight raider 'encampments'. There are also six raider 'settlements', three raider strongpoints, and one central 'headquarters'." He returned his gaze to Drew.

"What does this tell you?" Drew sighed and nodded.

"The LSM is fighting a losing battle. Fifteen hundred trained soldiers protecting God knows how many civilians from an army of raiders. A living nightmare." Long nodded.

"And one hell of a political headache. If people knew just how precariously we were positioned there, they would panic. What makes it even worse is that there are at least seven, no eight, places our Rangers have scouted that would be ideal for settlements, outposts, and strongpoints for garrisons. We just don't have the manpower to actually _DO_ anything about them." Drew looked to him.

"So then, how am I fortunate?" Long smiled.

"You started something that day in Robeline. You shot the arm off of Smiling Jack and in the days since then, you have wiped out a raider encampment, killed a high ranking member of Jack's crew and driven the other to ground, in short you've lit a fire under so many asses the raiders are struggling to get a grip on the situation and the majority of them are blaming Jack for making this personal."

"His tactics and methods of maintaining control are cruel but he has been taking too long to recover and now cracks are starting form. Disipline is breaking down, splinter groups are acting independantly, other groups are moving to other areas. The whole thing is one big house of cards that is about to collapse." Long took a sip of whiskey and then looked Drew straight in the eyes.

"You have an axe to grind with Jack and his outfit. Thing is, they're just one piece of a problem that is scattered all over Louisiana. After you finish Jack off, what then? Now we come down to brass tacks. I see something in you kid. You're a magnet, drawing talented people to you who know how to go in, get a job done, and kick some serious ass while doing it." He glanced to General Beauregard and then back to Drew.

"General Beauregard was just informing me that, while he appreciates the offer of the LSM awarding the first settlement contract to them, the Greycoats are unfortunately spread a little too thin in the area. I have had similar reports from other Companies with assets in the area. If we want to start settling further out from Natchitoches and other big LSM emcampments, we need to remove the threats before us." General Beauregard then coughed, getting Drew's attention.

"What my old friend is trying to say while at the same time using every word in the thesaurus is that the only way to circumvent the previous Governor's law is to establish a new Company, one that, in theory, will be under LSM jurisdiction, have representatives from as many of the Six Companies as possible, and will have enough manpower to successfully accomplish a minimum of twelve LSM-issued contracts per year." Long nodded.

"In this way, we can ensure that the LSM's goals remain intact while at the same time not unbalancing the authority of other groups. Of the Six, only the Copperheads and the Rattlers are opposed to the idea, however, the Second Amendment will only back the concept if the aforementioned Company establishes trade and caraven routes to outlying settlements as promptly as possible." Macy gave a knowing sigh.

"That would mean not only clearing raiders and threats from these settlement spots but also ensuring that the locations along the routes were secure as well." Governor Long nodded before looking at the clock and sighing.

"I would truly love to speak to you more on the subject but at the moment General Beauregard and I have to attend the Meeting. One of the issues to be discussed will be the new Company so I need an answer from you before the day is out." Drew nodded but then gave a grim expression.

"Sir, wait a moment. Based on intel I recieved from these two ladies here when I rescued them from a raider 'complex', I believe that the meeting is a trap, designed by the Copperheads to destabilize the LSM and the other Companies." Long paused for a moment and sighed.

"I had feared as much. When I first learned the Copperheads were taking jobs from outside the state and their territory I was worried but now I am convinced." He turned to General Beauregard.

"Notify the staff and alert the Company representatives that we have been betrayed. Has the Copperhead rep arrived yet?" The last was directed to a young women Drew only now just noticed and saw her shake her head.

"No sir, the Rattler rep has arrived but the Copperheads have not. Curiously enough though, they seem to have brought in three times the number of personel for security purposes than they usually do. The RRG was actually _relieved_ that the Copperheads were 'pulling their own weight' for a change." Beauregard grimaced.

"They already have the forces needed to make any conflict in the city a bloodbath. Lives will be lost today regardless of how well we defend ourselves." Drew turned to Governor Long.

"Sir, my group will protect you and General Beauregard." Long immediately shook his head.

"No need son. I'm a former Greycoat and we always protect our own. Even retired or semi-retired broken down wrecks like Tom and myself. No, you go into the city, protect the people." A siren suddenly blared from outside, making Long grimace.

"Consider this your first LSM contract: Eliminate the Copperhead threat, secure key positions in the Capital, and protect as many people as you can." Drew nodded to the Governor, gave a salute to General Beauregard just as twelve armed Greycoats came in, weapons ready.

Outside, explosions echoed from below and gunfire erupted in the streets.


	22. The Snake In Our Midst

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Also for those who have not been on DA to read the Fallout Louisiana tech guide, the Greycoat Laser Carbine introduced later on is based on a Civil War weapon used by both sides, the Colt M1855 Revolving Carbine.

Also, the reference to the 'Stinger' was a 'Frankenstein gun' of WWII. It was a .30 cal MG used in torpedo and dive bombers and had a fire rate that rivaled the German MG42. US Marines in the Pacific theatre pulled these weapons from crashed planes, fitted them with pieces from the BAR and M1 Garand and created a man-portable machinegun.

Only 27 were 'built', all in the Pacific, and none are believed to have survived and there is said to be only one existing photograph of the weapon.

The designation of STINGER, BB means Stinger, Big Brother.

Chapter 21: The Snake In Our Midst

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Date: April 26, 2285

Location: Baton Rouge, Louisiana: LSM Capital, HQ District

Time: 1045 hours (10:45 AM)  
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The sounds of gunfire echoed from almost all directions as Drew and his group came out of the capital building. Drew immediately tuned his radio to the LSM's military frequency and waited a moment while the information came over the Pipboy radio.

'Attention! Attention! All LSM and Company personel on the frequency! We have confirmed reports of multiple hostile groups in at least three zones of engagement. The Greycoats and 3rd LSM infantry have secured the HQ District and the Governor is safe. However, Command requests any troops possible to move to one of the open engagement zones and assist defenders in that area.'

'The first area is Louisiana State University compound. The second area is the old Baton Rouge General Medical Center. The third is the Greater Baton Rouge Port. We also have reports of hostiles boarding the USS Kidd and another group that broke away and headed for Hammond Aire Plaza. The RRG has put all boats on alert and the French Guard have secured the Port Allen Armory. Any forces in the area, please assist the group nearest to them.'

Drew looked to his group and nodded.

"So then, what's what?" Sarge came up and flipped Drew's Pipboy to the map.

"Okay, the LSU campus is here, to the south of us. Mainly it's research and development and residential for a lot of promising young techs. Its agriculture center is where the city gets most of its crops from."

"After that was Baton Rouge General which rivaled the Complex as one of the best hospitals in the state, it is the place where LSM soldiers and civilians are sent to recover from wounds and injuries. It also has labs for creating Stimpacks, Meds, and even drugs."

"The other place, the Port, basically surrounds the Port Allen Armory, meaning what forces have secured it are surrounded. It is also where the capital gets a good amount of its purified drinking water." Drew then pointed to the other two ticks that Sarge had marked.

"That closest one was USS Kidd, a destroyer from the Second World War. Armed with five inch cannons and several thirty and fifty caliber machineguns, the RRG was trying to get her sea-worthy again just in case their plans for the Anchorage fall flat."

"How close have they come?"

"They had already begun moving their staff to the ship and was even rumored to have one or two suits of power armor on board to defend in case of being boarded." He glanced at Emily and Macy and grimaced.

"I think you two might have a better understanding of the last mark than either Drew or myself." Emily nodded sharply.

"The Hammond Aire Plaza or HAP, is the largest trading post in this part of the state. It is also where the 2nd Amendment manufactures and distributes almost eighty percent of its armor, firearms, ammunition, and explosives." Sarge huffed.

"Food, water, meds, chems, guns, ammo, and high explosives. It's practically Christmas for those Copperhead bastards if they succeed. Drew, what do you think?" Drew thought for a moment and then gazed at the group he had with him.

"I believe we are already split up enough with Jaques, Priest, Izzy, Chief, and Jenkins at Port Allen helping the defence. However, that leaves me and you, Rhys, Macy, and Emily." Macy came forward with Emily.

"Well Emily and I are headed for the HAP. What affects the 2nd Amendment effects the Bootleggers as well as the LSM." Neal nodded and turned to Rhys and Sarge.

"Alright then, what's closest to us again?" Sarge pointed to the map.

"The USS Kidd."  
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Aside from some debris falling on the deck, the USS Kidd had survived the last minutes of the Great War. Until the Vault in Baton Rouge, Vault 41, opened, she sat neglected and forgotten.

That all changed with the Red River Guard.

The Red River Guard, or RRG, was formerly a part of the LSM forces until the section split off after several months without pay. Sailors and Marines of the RRG had families that needed housing, food, clothing so they broke away and formed their own Company. Needless to say, it was a decision that turned out to be beneficial to the LSM.

Louisiana is practically a water state. New Orleans was the largest port in the southeastern United States and was the 'door' into the south. The Mississippi River carves the state almost in half, and the shallower Red River winds its way all the way up into Arkansas. Not to mention the hundred, if not thousands, of estuaries, tributaries, side channels, creeks, streams, lakes, and acres of swampland.

Up until their separation from the LSM, the RRG had been making due with small salvaged boats and a few barges and derelict tug boats found beached on the Mississippi. It wasn't until someone got the grand idea that perhaps the waterway into New Orleans wasn't too badly radioactive that the powers that be ordered teams to look for salvagable deep water craft.

The USS Kidd, moored in Baton Rouge as a floating museum, was an obvious choice but a lot of work and time was needed to get it into working order. However, it was not the only one.

RRG engineers found a partially sunk US Coast Guard cutter in the Mississippi and refloated it. The vessel, USS Anchorage, has been the work in progress as it is both the 'on site' base of the RRG and also its flagship. Other vessels are the heavy gunboat 'Louisiana', the shallow draft vessel 'Explorer', and the twin gunboats 'Kearsarge' and 'Alabama' which are tasked with protecting the Anchorage.

It was obvious to Drew as he approached to old warship that the RRG had done extensive refits to the ship. Lacking the ability to produce 5 inch shells, the turrets and cannons had been ripped out and scrapped to make way for partially covered emplacements with the RRG's trademark artillery, the 1.5in Naval Quick-firing cannon.

Other changes included the removal of the depth charges to make way for 20mm Orkelion emplacements, the addition of several .50 caliber M2 machineguns, as well as cutting open several portholes on both sides to add additional 1.5in cannons for a 'broadside'.

The RRG had successfully turned the USS Kidd into a floating fortress, however, the only thing stopping them from getting underway was an obvious lack of fuel oil for the engines.

The reports of at least three of the M2s and the sight of several LSM and RRG bodies did not bode well for a boarding attempt.

Drew steadied himself, gave quick looks to Rhys and Sarge, and readied his rifle. Thankfully a pile of steel beams blocked him from immediate sight and he focused in on the raiders manning the machineguns that were trained on the dock where several LSM and RRG were pinned down.

Sarge likewise readied his rifle and Rhys, having earlier picked up a fallen Greycoat soldier's Laser Carbine, pulled the hammer back on the rifle, cycling the cylinder and chambering a fresh power cell.

"Sarge, you have the one in the middle, I'll take the one on the structure, Rhys, you have the closest one. Fire on my mark..."

"NOW!"

The two rifles and laser carbine fired in perfect sync. Sarge's target went down with a hole in his head, Rhys' target went down clutching his arm in horrendous pain and the laser had burned a hole through the limb and left 3rd-degree burns around the wound.

Drew's target, however, had shifted at the last second causing the round to deflect off the 'shield' of the M2 and, almost comically, shot the nose off the man at the gun.

The man screamed in pain, released the gun to clutch his face and that's when the soldiers they had been pinning down rose and opened fire, raking the deck with weapons fire and charging the ship, bayonets fixed. Drew switched weapons to his 10mm SMG and joined the charge, running up the gangway, emptying a full clip into the raiders who came pouring from the bridge structure, and then lobbing a grenade in to finish the job.

It was quick, it was bloody, but nevertheless it was a victory. The RRG were stunned at the fact that merely eighteen raiders in piecemeal armor had held them off for so long.

Rhys gave a whistle which got Drew's attention and he turned to see him pointing to a station where seven suits of power armor, T-45c models, were stationed. One had been completely repainted in the colors of the RRG, four were painted in the hallmarks of either the Greycoats, French Guard, or Second Amendment with only partial conversion to RRG colors. The rest had no paint, were rusty looking, and had clearly been exposed to the elements for extended periods of time.

Drew approached one of the officers who saw his uniform and saluted.

"Major, thanks for the assistance. Those bastards were trying to turn the cannons on the Port and blast the defenders. We'll work on securing the ship but you're welcome to take anything that you need." Drew looked to the armor bay.

"I need two power armor units and..." Drew noticed some nearby crates that were marked:

PROPERTY OF US ARMY LOUISIANA NATIONAL GUARD, LEESVILLE ARMORY

3X .50 CAL. M2 HEAVY MG, DESIGNATION: M2P5 'STINGER, BB'

USE WITH POWER ARMOR UNITS ONLY!

Intrigued, Drew pointed the crates to Rhys who broke them open revealing three M2 machineguns that had obviously been modified with slightly shorter barrels, handles fitted to frame, and instead of a twin grip trigger that was on the fixed guns, instead was a short 'stock' with a rifle trigger.

"Any chance we could also get two of those and some ammo to go with them?" The soldier nodded and within moments, Drew and Rhys were each in power armor and hefting the Stingers, each with 1,000 rounds of ammunition. Sarge looked at the two and smiled.

"If the sight of you two don't make the raiders shit their pants, nothing will. Rest assured though, despite the rough appearance of the armor, both of those suits are functional." The man nodded and chuckled at his own joke before turning back to oversee the security of the ship.  
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As Drew was checking with Sarge and the Pipboy about where to go next, the radio came to life with more frantic shouting.

'Raiders and Copperheads in the LSU campus have breached the S.I.T.! Anyone nearby please assist!' Drew looked curiously to Sarge.

"What's the S.I.T.?" Sarge noted other puzzled expressions and proceeded to explain.

"Back in the days before the bombs fell, a bunch of geniuses who did not quite make the cut to become part of the Think Tank at Big Mountain formed the United Technical Initiative or UTI. It was comprised of graduates and students from four of the largest institutes in the country. Out east you have the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, formerly known as M.I.T. Out west you had the California Institute of Technology."

"The other two were the northernmost and southernmost institutes. The one out of Michigan was known as the Northern Institute of Technology, or N.I.T. to most, and the one based out of LSU here in Louisiana was the Southern Institute of Technology, or S.I.T." Sarge then chuckled at something he remembered and smiled.

"It was a huge thing but several of their experiments didn't pan out properly. Eventually the whole thing became a joke, especially between the N.I.T. and the S.I.T. The most popular joke was: What happens when a student from N.I.T meets a student from S.I.T.?" He waited for a moment and his grin widened.

"The answer: The one from N.I.T talks out of his ass and the fellow from S.I.T just sits and nods." Drew nodded, still uncertain about the humor Sarge saw in the joke and then looked to the Pipboy.

"So we head south from here?" Sarge nodded.

"Yeah, quickest way from here is down Nicholson Street. The S.I.T. was a new addition back in 2055 and technically was built just outside campus grounds."

At that moment though, the RRG officer from before came up and saluted.

"There may be another way. We've recieved word that the Explorer, one of our vessels, is almost here to give assistance. It will be a small matter to get it to stop momentarily and pick you three up and take you down to the Campus." Drew looked to Sarge and Rhys then nodded.

"Do it." The officer nodded and went to a HAM radio on the deck and turned the dial to the RRG frequency.

"This is the USS Kidd calling Explorer. We have a priority pick up for you. Three freelancers to assist the Campus. Overland route likely blocked by attack. Please acknowledge."

A moment later, the static was broken by a woman's voice coming through the radio.

'Explorer copies, rerouting to pick up packages with all due haste.'


End file.
